GetPassage urn:cts:latinLit:phi0893.phi001.perseus-eng2:4.6.41-4.7.16 urn:cts:latinLit:phi0893.phi001.perseus-eng2:4.6.41-4.7.16

And happy brides shall say, “'Twas mine,When years the cyclic season brought,To chant the festal hymn divineBy Horace taught.”

The snow is fled: the trees their leaves put on,The fields their green:Earth owns the change, and rivers lessening runTheir banks between.Naked the Nymphs and Graces in the meadsThe dance essay:“No 'scaping death” proclaims the year, that speedsThis sweet spring day.Frosts yield to zephyrs; Summer drives out Spring,To vanish, whenRich Autumn sheds his fruits; round wheels the ring,—Winter again!Yet the swift moons repair Heaven's detriment:We, soon as thrustWhere good Aeneas, Tullus, Ancus went,What are we? dust.