Spring Pome
ad sextium
Horace: Book II, Ode 4.
“Solvitur acris hiems grata—”
The backbone of winter is shattered to pieces;
The breezes are balmy that blow from the west;
The farmer his cows from the stable releases;
The ploughman gets up from his fireside domest;
No more are the meadows all icy and snowy;
Come columns on Mathewson, Sweeney and Kling;
The strawberry shortcake is heavy and doughy—
’Tis Spring!
The breezes are balmy that blow from the west;
The farmer his cows from the stable releases;
The ploughman gets up from his fireside domest;
No more are the meadows all icy and snowy;
Come columns on Mathewson, Sweeney and Kling;
The strawberry shortcake is heavy and doughy—
’Tis Spring!
Now Venus, the w. k. Cytherean,
Cavorts Isadorably under the moon,
Assisted by choruses gracile, nymphean,
She dances a measure that’s wholly jejune.
’Tis time to divert one’s estraying attention
To bonnets embowered with every old thing—
Fruits, myrtle and parsley—again I must mention
’Tis Spring!
Cavorts Isadorably under the moon,
Assisted by choruses gracile, nymphean,
She dances a measure that’s wholly jejune.
’Tis time to divert one’s estraying attention
To bonnets embowered with every old thing—
Fruits, myrtle and parsley—again I must mention
’Tis Spring!
’Tis time for the sacrifice sacred to Faunus—
He may get our lambkin, he may get our goat.
O Sextius, ere death shall have wholly withdrawn us,
Take this from Horatius, your favorite pote;
Soon Pluto will cail you, at some unforeseen time,
You'll go, be you journalist-jester or king,
You can’t get away from it. But, in the meantime,
’Tis Spring!
He may get our lambkin, he may get our goat.
O Sextius, ere death shall have wholly withdrawn us,
Take this from Horatius, your favorite pote;
Soon Pluto will cail you, at some unforeseen time,
You'll go, be you journalist-jester or king,
You can’t get away from it. But, in the meantime,
’Tis Spring!