Odes 1.25 (Gladstone): Parcius Iunctas

Forward youths thy fastened windows
Rap not as they rapped of yore,
Force not vigils; and the threshold
Seems to hug the door.

Once it creaked on easy hinges,
Less and little now;
Yet I pine through endless nights, and,
Lydia, sleepest thou?

Thou, when lone and old, wilt suffer
Scorn from jesting rakes;
Aye, 'twixt moons, when Boreas fiercest
From his mountains breaks.

Then shalt thou with flagrant passion
Like the beasts be torn,
And with fire of cankered entrails
Thou shalt grieve, forlorn,

That our youth must have their ivy
And their myrtle young,
All the withered leaves to Hebrus,
Icy Hebrus, flung.