Explore "Horace I, 31" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
As forth he pours the new made wine, / What blessing asks the lyric poet -- / What boon implores in this fair shrine / Of one full likely to bestow it?
Not for Sardinia's plenteous store, / Nor for Calabrian herds he prayeth, / Nor yet for India's wealth galore, / Nor meads where voiceless Liris playeth.
Let honest riches celebrate / The harvest earned -- I'd not deny it; / Yet am I pleased with my estate, / My humble home, my frugal diet.
Child of Latonia, this I crave; / May peace of mind and health attend me, / And down into my very grave / May this dear lyre of mine befriend me!