To Pyrrah

Translation

Horace, Odes 1.5

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Who is that scrawny boy, saturated in the fragrance of roses,

that presses against you, Pyrrah, underneath that inviting grotto?

Is he the reason why your plain, golden hair is styled so elegantly?

Oh, how often will he soon cry about fickle faith and fickle gods,

your insolence like a dark, stormy sea will leave him standing there appalled;

This boy who now unsuspectingly delights in your golden hair,

who’s mind is free of doubt, and words are laced with promises to be worthy of your love.

This boy who is completely ignorant of your golden deception.

Wretched are those who don’t know about your shine.

As for me, look to the sacred wall where my wet clothes are suspended in the breeze

as an offering to the powerful god of the sea.

And my testament of a terrible storm weathered.