Explore "Horace IV, 1" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
O Mother Venus, quit, I pray, / Your violent assailing; / The arts, forsooth, that fired my youth / At last are unavailing -- / My blood runs cold -- I'm getting old / And all my powers are failing!
Speed thou upon thy white swan's wings / And elsewhere deign to mellow / With my soft arts the anguished hearts / Of swain that writhe and bellow; / And right away, seek out, I pray, / Young Paullus -- he's your fellow.