What spires, what farms are those?
From the Department of What the Hell, Brain, We're Making Fruitcake: Horace's labuntur anni (Odes 2.14) should be translated as "the years give us the slip." I have no idea where this precipitated from. I'm up to my wrists in flour and dried cherries. I was reading J.L. Carr's A Month in the Country (1980) before bed last night, but that only made me think of Housman.

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It's supposed to be made (at least according to our recipe) with slivered almonds, raisins, candied citron peel, and chopped dark chocolate; we left out the citron and replaced the raisins with tart cherries, but the incredibly time-consuming batter was faithfully observed. I will let you know how it comes out.
PS: Am now imagining it as bread by or for Bernhard Bischoff, possibly incorporating small scraps of parchment, or Latin texts written on the top in icing.
. . . Now I really want to make that. Edible Festschrift.