Poetry Explorer


Classic and Contemporary Poetry


ODES II, 17. TO THOMAS STANLEY, BEING SICK OF FEVER by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS

First Line: AM NOT I IN THY FEVER SACRIFIZ'D?
Last Line: TIS SURE OUR MUTUAL STARS STRANGELY AGREE.
Subject(s): SICKNESS; STANLEY, THOMAS (1625-1678); ILLNESS;

AM not I in thy fever sacrifiz'd?
That you alone by Fate should be surpriz'd,
You, my sole sunshine, my soul's wealth and pride,
Is both by me and by the Gods denied:
If hasty death take thee, my soul, away,
Can I, a loath'd imperfect carcass, stay?
No, no; our twisted lives must be cut both
Together; this I dare confirm by oath,
Whene'er thou leap'st into the fatal boat,
I'll leap in, glad with thee in death to float:
Nor shall that dubious monster, breathing fire,
Nor Gyges' hundred hands, did he respire,
Pluck me from this resolve, approved so
By Fate and Justice: whither Scorpio
Fierce in my Horoscope, or Capricorn
Oppressing Latium with his wat'ry horn,
Or Libra brooded my nativity,
'Tis sure our mutual stars strangely agree.



Home: PoetryExplorer.net