OD. i. 38.
Persian grandeur I abhor;
Linden-wreathed crowns, avaunt:
Boy, I bid thee not explore
Woods which latest roses haunt:
Try on nought thy busy craft
Save plain myrtle; so arrayed
Thou shalt fetch, I drain, the draught
Fitliest 'neath the scant vine-shade.
To His Slave. - Translations From Horace
Charles Stuart Calverley
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Poem topics: shade, plain, busy, save, drain, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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