ODE IX

by Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus)

see Soracte
standing white
in deep
snow
the woods
bending
under it
and streams
stiff
with harsh
ice

melt this cold

pile more logs on
the fire and
even better my
friend Thaliarchus
dig out that
jar of four-
year-old un-
diluted
wine

let the gods

take the rest
once they've calmed
the warring winds
across the churning
seas then
cypress
and ancient
ash will be
still

do not ask
what tomorrow
will bring
however many
days fate allows
count them all
as profit
and do not
forego
dancing
and sweet affairs

as long as
creaking age
is distant
from your limbs
now let parks
and squares
be sought again
and intimate
whispers at
evening's
appointed
hour

and the willing

laugh too
betraying
some girl lying back
in a secret
corner
a bracelet
snatched
from her wrist or
ring from a finger
merely
pretending
to resist

Trans. Michael Blackburn