Love
From Catullus
From Poems (1762)
Love
Chloe, that dear bewitching prude,
Still calls me saucy, pert, and rude,
And sometimes almost strikes me;
And yet, I swear, I can't tell how,
Spite of the knitting of her brow,
I'm very sure she likes me.
Ask you me, why I fancy thus?
Why, I have call'd her jilt, and puss,
And thought myself above her;
And yet I feel it, to my cost,
That when I rail against her most,
I'm very sure I love her.
✦ ✦ ✦
Codex Note
Text from the Eighteenth Century Collections Online / ECCO-TCP transcription (TCP K091366), Poems (1762).
Cite this poem
MLA
Lloyd, Robert. “From Catullus.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/lloyd_r/8/.
Chicago
Lloyd, Robert. “From Catullus.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/lloyd_r/8/.
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