Classic Poem

LAUREL-CROWNED Horatius,
—True, how true thy saying!
Swift as wind flies over us
—Time, devouring, slaying.
Where are, oh! those goblets full
—Of wine, honey-laden,
Strifes and loves and bountiful
—Lips of ruddy maiden?

Grows the young grape tenderly,
—And the maid is growing;
But the thirsty poet, see,
—Years on him are snowing!
What's the use on hoary curls
—Of the bays undying,
If we may not kiss the girls,
—Drink while time's a-flying?