By Leila Macdonald 119
Alas, my Ccelia, you, whose grace
Has perished with the silent Time,
Accept this homage of a rhyme,
Paid to where stone reflects your face.
For stone may show
Not all Vesuvius could eclipse
The sunshine of your smiling lips.
Alas, my Ccelia, you, whose grace
Has perished with the silent Time,
Accept this homage of a rhyme,
Paid to where stone reflects your face.
For stone may show
Not all Vesuvius could eclipse
The sunshine of your smiling lips.