Book I, Elegy 12

Why, Rome, thou witness of my love, ceasest thou never to tax me falsely with sloth, saying 'tis sloth delays my suit? She is parted from my bed by as many leagues as Hypanis is distant from Venetian Eridanus. No more does Cynthia feed my wonted love with her embraces, no longer does her name make music to my ear. Once I pleased her well: then there was none so happy as to love with such true return of devotion. But envy marked us down. Was it a god that overwhelmed me, or some magic herb gathered on Promethean hills for the sundering of lovers?

I am not what I was. A distant journey can change a woman's heart! How mighty was that love, and in how brief a space 'tis fled! Now for the first time am I forced to face the long, long hours of night alone and to vex mine own ears with my complaining. Happy the man who can weep before his mistress' eyes; Love has great delight in flooding tears. Or if, once spurned, he hath had power to change his passion, even in change of bondage is there joy. But I may never love another, nor part from her. Cynthia was the beginning, Cynthia shall be the end.