Book II, Elegy 25

Thou beyond all women born to be, most fair, the burden of mine anguish, since mine ill fate debars me from the words "Come and come often!" my books shall make thy beauty known above all other; only do thou, Calvus, and thou, Catullus, grant me that this may be.

The soldier bowed with years sleeps no longer by the weapons he hath laid aside; oxen grown old refuse to draw the plough; the crumbling ship rests on the empty sands, and idle on the temple wall hangs the warrior's ancient shield. But never shall old age sunder me from love of thee, though I be old as Tithonus or as Nestor old. Were it not better to be a cruel tyrant's slave and groan within thy bull, savage Perillus? Better were it to turn to stone before the Gorgon's gaze or to endure the vultures of Caucasus. Yet will I persist. The blade of steel is eaten by rust, and drops of water oft wear down the flint. But the threshold of no mistress can wear down that love that abides firm and endures to listen to threats it has never deserved. Nay, the lover even answers disdain with supplications and wrong with the confession that 'twas himself that sinned, and oft returns he with reluctant feet.

Thou too, credulous lover, that waxest proud because thy love is at the full, know that no woman has solid worth for long. Does any man perform his vows in mid-tempest, when many a ship swims shattered even in port? Or does any man demand the prize ere first for the seventh time the wheel hath grazed the goal? Deceitful is the play of the prospering gales of love; the passion that comes late in time brings with it mighty ruin. Yet do thou meanwhile, though she love thee, keep thy joys close within thy silent breast. For in love 'tis ever his own words that, how I know not, do the lover greatest hurt. Though oft she summon thee, have a care to go but once: that which is envied endures but for a brief space.

But should the times return that pleased the maids of old, I should be what thou now art; 'tis this vile age has conquered me. Yet these ill times shall never alter my heart: let each man have the wit to go his own way.

But ye that bid a man serve many loves, if thus ye live, what agony torments your eyes! Ye see a tender maid of whitest hue, or again another of darker brilliance: either hue attracts the eye. Ye see a girl whose form betrays the Greek, or, again, our Roman beauties; either beauty allures. Though she be clothed in plebeian garb or in robes of scarlet, 'tis by one and the same path that either cruel wound is dealt. Since one love can keep thine eyes from sleep long time enough, one woman were a host of ills for any man.