Horace, Ode 1.5

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa

perfusus liquidis urget odoribus

grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?

Cui flavam religas comam,

simplex munditiis? Heu quotiens fidem

mutatosque deos flebit et aspera

nigris aequora ventis

emirabitur insolens

qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,

qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem

sperat, nescius aurae

fallacis. Miseri, quibus

intemptata nites. Me tabula sacer

votiva paries indicat uvida

suspendisse potenti

vestimenta maris deo.

What slender boy drenched in liquid perfumes

presses upon you many roses,

Pyrrha, under a pleasing cave?

For whom do you tie your yellow hair,

simple with elegance? Alas, how often he will

lament faithlessness and changed gods and he will

marvel in surprise at the rough sea with

black winds

he who now enjoys you, trusting, you are golden,

he who hopes that you will always be free, always lovable,

unaware of a treacherous breeze.

Wretched ones, for whom

you, untried, shine. The sacred wall with the

votive tablet indicates that I have suspended

my wet clothes to the

god of the sea.