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Horace: Book IV Ode II

"_Est mihi nonum superantis annum_"

Phyllis, I've a keg of fine fermented grape juice,
Alban wine that's been nine years in the cellar.
Ivy chaplets? Sure. Also, in the garden,
  Plenty of parsley.

See my little shack--why, you'd hardly know it.
All the rooms are swept, Sunday-like and shiny;
Flowers all around, altar simply famished--
  Hungry for lamb stew.

Neighbours all are coming over to the party,
All the busy boys, all the giggling girlies,
Whiffs of certain things wafted from the kitchen--
  Simply delicious.

Oh, of course. You ask why the fancy fireworks,
Why the awning out, why the stylish doings.
Well, I'll tell you why. It's Maecenas' birthday
  13th of April.

Telephus? Oh, tush! Pass him up completely!
Telly's such a swell; Telly doesn't love you;
Telly is a trifler; Telly's running round with
  Some other fairy.

Phyllie, don't mismate; those that do regret it.
Phaeton--you know his unhappy story;
Poor Bellerophon, too, you must remember,
  Pegasus shook him.

If these few remarks, rather aptly chosen,
Make a hit with you, come, don't make me jealous.
Let me sing you songs of my own composing,
  Oh, come on over!

© Franklin Pierce Adams