Be tranquil, Dellius, I pray; <br />For though you pine your life away <br />With dull complaining breath, <br />Or speed with song and wine each day-- <br />Still, still your doom is death. <br /> <br />Where the white poplar and the pine <br />In glorious arching shade combine <br />And the brook singing goes, <br />Bid them bring store of nard and wine <br />And garlands of the rose. <br /> <br />Let's live while chance and youth obtain-- <br />Soon shall you quit this fair domain <br />Kissed by the Tiber's gold, <br />And all your earthly pride and gain <br />Some heedless heir shall hold. <br /> <br />One ghostly boat shall some time bear <br />From scenes of mirthfulness or care <br />Each fated human soul!-- <br />Shall waft and leave his burden where <br />The waves of Lethe roll. <br /> <br />_So come, I pri' thee, Dellius, mine-- <br />Let's sing our songs and drink our wine <br />In that sequestered nook <br />Where the white poplar and the pine <br />Stand listening to the brook._<br /><br />Eugene Field<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/horace-ii-3/
