Classic Poem

Horace

In the happier years gone by me,
In a well-remembered day,
Yours the custom was to eye me
In a not unflattering way.
When than I none was than-whicher,
When none other dared to fling
Arms about you, I was richer
Than the noted Persian king.

Lydia

Those the days when sweet the savor
Of mine overbrimming cup,
When no Chloi found your favor,
When I was not runner-up.
As I scan my memorabilia,
I observe with girlish glee
That the famous Roman Ilia
Hadn't anything on me.

Horace

Now the roomy heart Horatian,
Beating loudly in this breast,
By the sweetly singing Thracian
Chloi's utterly possessed.
If I thought that lovely lass'd
Like to see me dead, I'd take
Half a pint of prussic acid
Gladly for her shining sake.

Lydia

What a fascinating game is
Love! My current cause for joy —
Thurian Calais his name is —
He is Ornytus's boy.
If I thought he'd like to view me
Moribund; that he would laugh
At my corse, I'd pour into me
All the poison I could quaff.

Horace

If no longer I should find her
As I used to find her — fair;
If I casually consigned her
To the celebrated air;
This affair — if I should quit it;
If I gazed again on you;
Do you think that we could hit it
Off the way we used to do?

Lydia

Yes. Though Calais is brighter
Than a coruscating star;
Madder than the sea, and lighter
Than a piece of cork you are,
Horace, you're the only guy for
Me. The others I resign.
You're the one I'd live for, die for —
And I'll be your Valentine.