Horace, Carmina 1.5

What bright boy has infused you
In manifold roses and urges you,
With flowing scents, Pyrrha,
Beneath a happy cave? For whom
Do you bind up your tawny hairs

Splendorous simple? Alas,
How often he'll lament your faith,
His changeful fate,
Insolacely wonder at oceans
Wicked with winter winds

Who now harvests you in gold
(Oh credulous youth), who hopes you
Always friendly, always free, unschooled as he is
In the shifty wind. Yes, miserable are those

To whom, untried, you should shine,
-- Can shine. A wall sacred
For votive offerings witnesses
How I once hung my sea-sogged rags
To the ocean's potent god.