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Below me, on the sea, when days are fine,
I like to watch the ships go sailing past:
Above, a terraced hillside, clothed in vine,
Shelters my villa from the North Wind's blast.
Which faction is on top, which in decline,
Whether the peace with Persia will hold fast,
No longer is the least concern of mine:
I have retired from public life at last.
Our only problem here, but one that grates,
Is Huns. Among their people it's no crime
To rob or kill a stranger. Every time
They're caught and punished by the magistrates,
They protest loudly. Still, I am content--
And thank you for that gift of books you sent.
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