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Eugene Field - Horace I, 4.
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`Tis spring! the boats bound to the sea;
    The breezes, loitering kindly over
  The fields, again bring herds and men
    The grateful cheer of honeyed clover.

  Now Venus hither leads her train,
    The Nymphs and Graces join in orgies,
  The moon is bright and by her light
    Old Vulcan kindles up his forges.

  Bind myrtle now about your brow,
    And weave fair flowers in maiden tresses--
  Appease God Pan, who, kind to man,
    Our fleeting life with affluence blesses.

  But let the changing seasons mind us
    That Death`s the certain doom of mortals--
  Grim Death who waits at humble gat
    And likewise stalks through kingly portals.

  Soon, Sestius, shall Plutonian shades
    Enfold you with their hideous seemings--
  Then love and mirth and joys of earth
    Shall fade away like fevered dreamings.
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