Horace, Book IV. Ode VII

Winter's dissolv'd, behold a world's new face! How grass the ground, how leaves their branches grace. That earth, which would not to the plough-share yield, Is softer now and easy to be till'd. And frozen streams, thaw'd by th' approaching sun, With whispering murmurs in their channels run: The naked nymphs and graces dance around, And o'er the flowery meadows nimbly bound. The months that run on Time's immortal wheels, The seasons treading on each other's heels, The winged hours that swiftly pass away, And spightfully consume the smiling day, Tell us, that all things must with them decay. The year rolls round us in a constant ring, And sultry summer wastes the milder spring: Whose hot meridian, quickly overpast, Declines to autumn, which with bounteous haste Comes crown'd with grapes, but suddenly is crost, Cold winter nips his vintage with a frost. The moon renews its orb to shine more bright; But when death's hand puts out our mortal light, With us, alas, 'tis ever, ever night! With Tullus and with Ancus we shall be, And the brave souls of vanish'd heroes see. Who knows if Gods above, who all things sway, Will suffer thee to live another day? Then please thy genius, and betimes take care To leave but little to thy greedy heir. When among crouds of ghosts thou shalt appear, And from the judge thy fatal sentence hear, Not birth, nor eloquence, nor wealth, nor all That thou canst plead, can the pass'd doom recal. Diana, though a Goddess, cannot take Her chaste Hippolytus from Lethe's lake. Perithous bound in fetters must remain; Theseus no more can break his adamantine chain.