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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=546961" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>BkIII:X Cruel One</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=546961" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">If you drank the water of furthest Don, Lyce,<br>married to some fierce husband, you’d still expose me<br>to the wailing winds of your native North country,<br>stretched out here by your cruel door.<br> <br>Hear how the frame creaks, how the trees that are planted<br>inside your beautiful garden moan in the wind,<br>and how Jupiter’s pure power and divinity<br>ices over the fallen snow.<br> <br>Set aside your disdain, it’s hateful to Venus,<br>lest the rope fly off, while the wheel is still turning:<br>you’re no Penelope, resistant to suitors,<br>nor born of Etruscan parents.<br> <br>O, spare your suppliants, though nothing moves you,<br>not gifts, not my prayers, not your lover’s pallor,<br>that’s tinged with violet, nor your husband smitten<br>with a Pierian mistress,<br> <br>you, no more pliant than an unbending oak-tree,<br>no gentler in spirit than a Moorish serpent.<br>My body won’t always put up with your threshold,<br>or the rain that falls from the sky.</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=Horace">Horace</a></strong></div>

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