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John Palcewski's Journal

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From Horace, Ode 1.22, slightly edited

Put me in barren fields where no tree
is refreshed by a summer breeze,
a corner of the world which clouds and
bad weather oppresses;

put me beneath the chariot of the
too-close sun, in a land bereft of houses;
I'll [still] love Vittoria, who laughs sweetly
and speaks sweetly.

Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
arbor aestiua recreatur aura,
quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Iuppiter urget;

pone sub curru nimium propinqui
solis, in terra domibus negata;
dulce ridentem Vittoria amabo,
dulce loquentem.

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