THE SURVIVAL
Horace, Ode 22, Bk. V.
Securely, after days
Unnumbered, I behold
Kings mourn that promised praise
Their cheating bards foretold.
Of earth-constricting wars,
Of Princes passed in chains,
Of deeds out-shining stars,
No word or voice remains.
Yet furthest times receive
And to fresh praise restore,
Mere flutes that breathe at eve,
Mere seaweed on the shore.
A smoke of sacrifice;
A chosen myrtle-wreath;
An harlot’s altered eyes;
A rage ’gainst love or death;
Glazed snow beneath the moon;
The surge of storm-bowed trees—
The Caesars perished soon,
And Rome Herself: But these
Endure while Empires fall
And Gods for Gods make room ...
Which greater God than all
Imposed the amazing doom?