| LIBER I - XXXVIII | THE SIMPLE MYRTLE |
| Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus) | trans. A. S. Kline |
|
Persicos odi, puer, apparatus, displicent nexae philyra coronae, mitte sectari, rosa quo locorum sera moretur. Simplici myrto nihil adlabores sedulus, curo: neque te ministrum dedecet myrtus neque me sub arta uite bibentem. |
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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Trans. Copyright © A. S. Kline 2003