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Littell's Living Age/Volume 132/Issue 1708/An Ode of Horace


[Horace, Book I., last Ode, beginning, "Persicos odi."]

To feast in high state
Like a Persian, I hate;
Wreaths of linden I care not to braid.
Then cease, boy, to look
Through each leafy nook
For the summer's last rose ere it fade.

The myrtle alone
Has a charm all its own;
I forbid thee aught else to entwine.
It is fairest for thee,
It is sweetest for me,
While I quaff 'neath the close-arching vine.
Saint Léonard, December 29, 1876.

Spectator. J. R.