Book I, Elegy 9

Mocker, I ever told thee love would find thee out and that thou shouldest not alway be free to speak thy thoughts. Lo! now thou liest low, and goest suppliant at a woman's will, and now some unknown girl, bought by thy gold but yesterday, lords it over thee. Not Chaonia's doves could better divine than I what youths each maiden shall enslave. Sorrow and tears of mine own have given me a just claim to skill. Ah! would that I could lay aside my love and once more be called a novice! What now avails it, poor wretch, to chant thy serious song and to bewail the walls raised by Amphion's lyre? Far more than Homer avails Mimnermus in the realm of love. Smooth are the songs that peaceful love demands.

Go to, prithee, and lay aside thy gloomy books and sing what every maid would wish to hear. What if thou hadst not easy access? Madman, thou seekest for water when plunged in love's mid-stream. Not even yet art thou pale, not yet art thou touched by love's true fire: 'tis but the first faint spark of the coming woe. Then hadst thou rather approach Armenian tigers, or know the chains that bind unto the wheels of Hell, than feel so oft the arrows of the boy about thy heartstrings, and be powerless to refuse aught that thy angry mistress may demand. To none doth any Love grant freest flight, but ever curbs his wings with tantalising hand. Nor be thou deceived if she is wholly at thy command; possess her, Ponticus, and straightway she steals with keener passion on thy soul. For then thou mayest not turn thine eyes where fancy guides; Love permits thee not to watch in any cause but hers, Love that lies hid until his hand hath pierced thee to the bone.

Whoe'er thou art, flee from the charms that urge their suit. To them hard flints and heart of oak might yield; much more must thou, frail breath of air that thou art. Wherefore if thou feelest aught of shame, at once confess thine error. Often in love 'twill bring relief to tell what passion wastes thy soul.