Horace I, 31.
By Eugene Field
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!
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"As forth he pours the new made wine,..."
Exploring the themes of classic, Eugene Field delivers a powerful performance in "Horace I, 31."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...