The snow treads back: the grass it flees,
Which buds on fields and leaves from trees.
Lands shift to: Earth's faces change
And following along, the bare ones arrange
(Wild waves form queues for the waveless bed!)
For the march twin Nymphs and Grace dare lead.

"Don't flee from death," they seem to say,
The fertile year and flitting day:

Chill Gusts turn Zephyr, when all at once
Blazing Summers mild Spring-times crush
While appled Autumn kicks her heel
As all the World shirks Winter's--
                                 Still:

Full moons wax new, the Dog-star sinks,
And when we fall with ancient kings
Of faith and state and riches' trade,
We too will live as dust and shade.
And who knows if, to our time, our Gods
The hope of one more daytime toss?

Fool!--drink your lees while you are here
(That wine eyed by your thirsty heir)
For nor your breed (this wit, this grace)
Will sway that judge or plead your case:
Hippolytus dead! no God will move
The mortal laws for Diana's pains.
Pirithous lost! no Theban's love
Will burst his comrade's Lethal chains.

Trans'd, Horace, Carmina, IV.vii