Classic Poem

Lovers lament, lament this fatal day,
When Beauty's sweetest bud is snatched away:
Unhappy nymph, that could so wretched prove,
To suffer so for such a noble love;
A love that was her glory, not offence,
The gods will sure reward such innocence,
Within those ever springing groves, where she
Shall from disasters in her love be free;
Whither her loved Theander shall repair
In her eternal joy to claim his share.