Ode 1.38 lyrics
by Quintus Horatius Flaccus
My boy: I hate the filigree of Persia.
Linden-sewn garlands chafe me with their glamor.
Cease and desist your search for the decaying
Last rose of summer.
I wouldn't want you tangling or defiling
Uncontrived myrtle. Myrtle's shade is proper
For you who pour, and for me as I drink in
Shade of the arbor.