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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=392971" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Propertius's Bid For Immortality</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Horace: Book III, Ode 3</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Carminis interea nostri redæmus in orbem---&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Let us return, then, for a time, <br>To our accustomed round of rhyme; <br>And let my songs' familiar art <br>Not fail to move my lady's heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They say that Orpheus with his lute <br>Had power to tame the wildest brute; <br>That &quot;Vatiations on a Theme&quot; <br>Of his would stay the swiftest stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They say that by the minstrel's song <br>Cithæron's rocks were moved along <br>To Thebes, where, as you may recall, <br>They formed themselves to frame a wall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Galatea, lovely maid, <br>Beneath wild Etna's fastness stayed <br>Her horses, dripping with the mere, <br>Those Polypheman songs to hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What marvel, then, since Bacchus and <br>Apollo grasp me by the hand, <br>That all the maidens you have heard <br>Should hang upon my slightest word?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tænerian columns in my home <br>Are not; nor any golden dome; <br>No parks have I, nor Marcian spring, <br>Nor orchards--nay, nor anything.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Muses, though, are friends of mine; <br>Some readers love my lyric line; <br>And never is Callipoe <br>Awearied by my poetry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O happy she whose meed of praise <br>Hath fallen upon my sheaf of lays! <br>And every song of mine is sent <br>To be thy beauty's monument.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Pyramids that point the sky, <br>The House of Jove that soars so high, <br>Mausolus' tomb--they are not free <br>From Death his final penalty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For fire or rain shall steal away <br>The crumbling glory of their day; <br>But fame for wit can never die, <br>And gosh! I was a gay old guy!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Franklin+P.+Adams">Franklin P. Adams</a><div class=q>
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&quot;Carminis interea nostri redæmus in orbem---&quot;


Let us return, then, for a time, 
To our accustomed round of rhyme; 
And let my songs' familiar art 
Not fail to move my lady's heart.

They say that Orpheus with ..."></div>
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