vrijdag 1 januari 2010


Lesbia, you often ask
How many kisses, light as air,
Lovely, tender little kisses
Are sufficient and to spare.

As many as the sands afar
Between the oracle of Jove
And Battus' tomb in Libya:
As many as the stars above.

Which, when the peace of even falls,
Behold the secret loves of men,
For mad Catullus are enough
As many kisses and again.

Which Peeping Thomas may not count,
So swiftly do they flutter by,
And lying tongues, which seek to harm,
Though jealous, may not falsify!

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