A collection of original poems and translations | ||
293
Epitaph on Albina.
Here fair Albina lies, yet not alone,That was forbid by Cytherea's Son;
His Quiver, Arrows, and his Bow lie here,
And Beauty's Self lay Lifeless on her Bier.
Strew Roses then, and Violets round her show'r,
She that's now Dust, was Yesterday a Flow'r.
A collection of original poems and translations | ||