With the Following Poem.
Fair things are slow to fade away,
Bear witness you, that yesterday
From out the Ghost of Pindar in you
Roll’d an Olympian; and they say
That here the torpid mummy wheat
Of Egypt bore a grain as sweet
As that which gilds the glebe of England,
Sunn’d with a summer of milder heat.
So may this legend for awhile,
If greeted by your classic smile,
Tho’ dead in its Trinacrian Enna,
Blossom again on a colder isle.
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