Ode 10 (Book IV): Age (Horace)

Ode 10 (Book IV): Age (Horace)

O you who are cruel still, and a master of Venus’s gifts,

when a white, unexpected plumage surmounts all your arrogance,

and the tresses that wave on your shoulders have all been shorn away,

and the colour that now outshines the flower of the crimson rose

is transformed, my Ligurinus, and has changed into roughened skin:

whenever you look at your altered face in the mirror, you’ll say:

‘Why didn’t I have, when I was a youth, the mind I have today,

or why can’t those untouched cheeks return to visit this soul of mine?’





The Odes




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