Today, I got to remembering a poem we learned in high school Latin:
|LIBER I – XXXVIII||THE SIMPLE MYRTLE|
|Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus)||trans. A. S. Kline|
| Persicos odi, puer, apparatus,
displicent nexae philyra coronae,
mitte sectari, rosa quo locorum
Simplici myrto nihil adlabores
| My child, how I hate Persian ostentation,
garlands twined around lime-tree bark displease me:
forget your chasing, to find all the places
where late roses fade.
You’re eager, take care, that nothing enhances
I’ve always understood Horace to be saying that he really had no use for the fancy, for the complicated, for the trumped up things. He’d much rather, at least when he was addressing this particular youth, hang out and enjoy the simple things.
I rather like that idea.
We’re too bolluxed up with all the things going on that we rarely stop to “smell the roses” as it were. In this season of Lent, it really hasn’t felt much like lent to me; too close to Christmas, too cold, too dark, too surreal as we go through one teething session after another on sleepless nights.
Yet, enjoying the simple things, like the truth of Lent makes life have more salt, don’t you think?
Aah, the teether calls….