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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390899" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Horace I, 31.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390899" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">As forth he pours the new made wine,<br>What blessing asks the lyric poet--<br>What boon implores in this fair shrine<br>Of one full likely to bestow it?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390899" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Not for Sardinia's plenteous store,<br>Nor for Calabrian herds he prayeth,<br>Nor yet for India's wealth galore,<br>Nor meads where voiceless Liris playeth.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390899" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Let honest riches celebrate<br>The harvest earned--I'd not deny it;<br>Yet am I pleased with my estate,<br>My humble home, my frugal diet.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=390899" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Child of Latonia, this I crave;<br>May peace of mind and health attend me,<br>And down into my very grave<br>May this dear lyre of mine befriend me!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Eugene+Field">Eugene Field</a></strong></div>

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