Classic Poem

He who is upright in his way of living,
Stainless of guilt, needs never the protection
Darts of Morocco, or bows or poisoned arrows,
Fuscus, can give him.

Whether his path be through the sultry Syrtes,
Or through the sunless Caucasus he travel,
Or through the countries watered by the famous
River Hydaspes.

Once in the Sabine Woods when I was strolling
Far past my farm, unarmed and free of worry,
Singing of Lalage, the wolf that heard me
Came up; and left me.

Monstrous was he, not such as martial Daunia
There in her spacious oaken forest nurses,
Not such as arid, lion-haunted Juba
Greatly produces.

Place me upon the sun-divested prairie
Where not a tree lives in the breath of summer;
Or where is nothing ever but the forecast:
Cloudy with showers.

Yes, you may place me on the old Equator
Where it is far too hot for habitation,
Yet will I love my Lalage forever
Smiling so sweetly.