“Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume” opens Horace’s Odes 2.14, with the addressee’s name repeated: alas, Postumus, Postumus, the fleeting years glide away. Devotion will bring no delay to wrinkles, to coming old age, or to unconquerable death.
This is one long sentence, and it keeps going: not even with three hundred bulls a day could you appease unweeping Pluto. Tap the words below to follow it clause by clause.
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Horace · Odes 2.14
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Ēheualasfugācēsfleeting
