Category: Imitation of Horace

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call to-day his own;
He who, secure within, can say,
To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have liv’d to-day.

Not heaven itself upon the past has power;
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

I can enjoy her while she ‘s kind;
But when she dances in the wind,
And shakes the wings and will not stay,
I puff the prostitute away.

And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.