The part of wisdom
and of happiness is to keep eyes on that part of the stream directly
before us, the only part which is ever really seen.
Y_ou see how, deep with gleaming snow,_
S_oracte stands, and, bending low,_
Y_on branches droop beneath their burden,_
A_nd streams o'erfrozen have ceased their flow._
A_way with cold! the hearth pile high_
W_ith blazing logs; the goblet ply_
W_ith cheering Sabine, Thaliarchus;_
D_raw from the cask of long years gone by._
A_ll else the gods entrust to keep,_
W_hose nod can lull the winds to sleep,_
V_exing the ash and cypress aged,_
O_r battling over the boiling deep._
S_eek not to pierce the morrow's haze,_
B_ut for the moment render praise;_
N_or spurn the dance, nor love's sweet passion,_
E_re age draws on with its joyless days._
N_ow should the campus be your joy,_
A_nd whispered loves your lips employ,_
W_hat time the twilight shadows gather,_
A_nd tryst you keep with the maiden coy._
F_rom near-by nook her laugh makes plain_
W_here she had meant to hide, in vain!_
H_ow arch her struggles o'er the token_
F_rom yielding which she can scarce refrain!_
_iii_.
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