Horace

8 December 65 BC – 27 November 8 BC / Italy

Bki:Xxxviii The Simple Myrtle

My child, how I hate Persian ostentation,
garlands twined around lime-tree bark displease me:
forget your chasing, to find all the places
where late roses fade.

You’re eager, take care, that nothing enhances
the simple myrtle: it’s not only you that
it graces, the servant, but me as I drink,
beneath the dark vine.
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