Book II, Elegy 15

How happy is my lot! O night that was not dark for me! and thou beloved couch blessed by my delight! How many sweet words we interchanged while the lamp was by, and how we strove together when the light was gone! For now she struggled with me with breasts uncovered, now, veiling herself in her tunic checked my advance. With a kiss she unsealed mine eyes weighed down with slumber and said: "Dost thou lie thus, thou sluggard?" How oft we shifted our arms and varied our embrace; how long my kisses lingered on thy lips!

There is no joy in spoiling love's delights by sightless motion: know, if thou knowest it not, that in love the eyes are guides. Paris himself is said to have been undone by love when he saw the Spartan naked, as she rose from the couch of Menelaus. Naked was Endymion when he impassioned Phoebus' sister, and naked they say he lay with the naked goddess.

But if thou hardenest thine heart and wilt lie clothed, thou shalt have thy raiment rent and feel the violence of my hands. Nay more, if anger carry me further yet, thou shalt show thy mother how thine arms are bruised. Not yet do drooping breasts forbid thee to make merry; that be her care that hath borne a child and counts it shame. While the Fates grant it, let us glut our eyes with love: the long night hasteneth on for thee that knows no dawning. And oh! that thou wouldst bind us in this embrace with such a chain that never the day might come to break its power! Be doves thine example: they are yoked together in love, male and female made one by passion. He errs that seeks to set a term to the frenzy of love; true love hath no bound. Sooner will earth mock the ploughman by bearing fruit out of season, and the Sun-god drive the steeds of night, rivers begin to recall their waters to their fount, the deep dry up and leave its fish athirst, than I shall be able to transfer my love to another; hers will I be in life and hers in death.

But if she be willing again to grant me such nights as last, one year will be long life for me. If she give me many, they will make me immortal; one such night might make any man a god!

Ah! if all men desired to pass their life as I, and lie with limbs weighed down by deep draughts of wine, nor cruel steel would there be nor ships of war, nor would our bones be tossed in the deep of Actium; nor would Rome, so oft beleaguered with triumphs o'er her own kin, be weary of tearing her hair for grief. This at least shall those that come after be able to praise in us: our wine-cups never outraged any god.

Cynthia, do thou only while the light is yet with thee forsake not the joy of life! Give me all thy kisses, yet shall they be all too few; and as leaves drop from withered wreaths and thou mayst see them bestrew the cups and float therein, so we that love and whose hopes are high perchance shall find to-morrow close our doom.