The Survival

Horace, Ode 22, Bk. V.

Securely, after days Unnumbered, I behold Kings mourn that promised praise Their cheating bards foretold.

Of earth-constricting wars, Of Princes passed in chains, Of deeds out-shining stars, No word or voice remains.

Yet furthest times receive And to fresh praise restore, Mere flutes that breathe at eve, Mere seaweed on the shore.

A smoke of sacrifice; A chosen myrtle-wreath; An harlot’s altered eyes; A rage ’gainst love or death;

Glazed snow beneath the moon; The surge of storm-bowed trees-- The Caesars perished soon, And Rome Herself: But these

Endure while Empires fall And Gods for Gods make room ... Which greater God than all Imposed the amazing doom?