Horace, Book IV. Ode VII

The snows are melted all away, The fields grow flowery, green, and gay, The trees put out their tender leaves; And all the streams, that went astray, The brook again into her bed receives.

See! the whole Earth has made a change: The Nymphs and Graces naked range About the fields, who shrunk before Into their caves. The empty grange Prepares its room for a new summer's store.

Lest thou should'st hope immortal things, The changing year instruction brings: The fleeting hour, that steals away The beggar's time, and life of kings, But ne'er returns them, as it does the day.

The cold grows soft with western gales, The Summer over Spring prevails, But yields to Autumn's fruitful rain, As this to Winter storms and hails; Each loss the hasting moons repair again.

But we, when once our race is done, With Tullus, and Anchises' son, (Though rich like one, like t'other good) To dust and shades, without a sun, Descend, and sink in deep oblivion's flood.

Who knows, if the kind Gods will give Another day to men that live In hope of many distant years; Or if one night more shall retrieve The joys thou losest by thy idle fears?

The pleasant hours thou spend'st in health, The use thou mak'st of youth and wealth, As what thou giv'st among thy friends Escapes thy heirs; so those the stealth Of Time and Death, where good and evil ends:

For when that comes, nor birth, nor fame, Nor piety, nor honest name, Can e'er restore thee. Theseus bold, Nor chaste Hippolytus could tame Devouring fate, that spares nor young nor old.