Dear youth, too early lost, who now art laid <br />Beneath the turf in green Labicum's glade, <br />O'er thee no storied urn, no labored bust <br />I rear to crumble with the crumbling dust; <br />But tapering box and shadowy vine shall wave, <br />And grass, with tears bedewed, shall clothe thy grave. <br />These gifts my sorrowing love to thee shall bring, <br />Gifts ever fresh and deathless as the Spring. <br />O when to me the fatal hour shall come, <br />Mine be as lowly and as green a tomb!<br /><br />Marcus Valerius Martialis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-death-of-a-sla/
