Epitaphium Erotii

Epitaphium Erotii

HERE lies Erotion, whom at six years old
Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold,
Who shall succeed me in my rural field),
To this small spirit annual honours yield!
Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave
And this, in thy green farm, the only grave.

-THE END-
Robert Louis Stevenson's poem: Epitaphium Erotii

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