Horace, Ode 22

Integer vitae scelerisque purus...

A man untempted by serious crime, a good man,
does not have to be armed to the teeth,
my good friend Ferkus. His goodness is his gat,

if you will, there are thousands

of hollow‑pointed rounds in his clip.

He makes any beach safe.
In the mountains he is considered
to be very wise, wary, yet lovable.
He often faces Danger with a smile
and offers it his place for the night.

I know this because a wolf recently ran from me.
That's right, me, little Horace, mister poet‑nobody.
I was wandering through a forest far from anybody,
singing aloud like a fool about Lalagen.

Now I've seen some monsters hunkered down
in dark woods, in the middle of the day,
and I'm scared of lions who go for long periods
without eating at all who then really chow down.

That wolf was even worse.
But Lalagen makes me brave as the sun.
For her I'd even imagine not eating,
Lost in some arctic blasted place.

She teaches me with her pleasure.
No surface is too hot for her.
She smile and talks to me
and I live on her breath.