Book III, Elegy 1: Dedication to Neaera (Postgate)

The festal Calends of Mars of Rome are come. This for our ancestors was the year's dawning. And on all sides, travelling in order due, presents are speeding this way and that along the city's streets and houses. Tell me, Pierian maids, with what tribute shall I present Neaera, whether mine or, if she plays me false, dear to me still.

" Poetry is the lure for the beautiful, gold for the greedy : so let there be new verses to gladden her as she deserves. But first let yellow parchment wrap the snow-white roll and pumice shear its hoary locks, and letters traced to show thy name border the high top of the fine papyrus, and let the horned knobs 'mid both its fronts be painted. For in such trim guise must thy work be sent."

Inspirers of this my song, I entreat ye by the shade of Castaly and the Pierian springs go to the house, and give her the dainty book just as it is ; let none of its bloom be lost. She will send me answer if her love is still as mine, or if it is less, or if I have fallen wholly out of her heart. And first (she has deserved it) bestow on her an ample greeting and in subdued accents speak these words :

"Thy husband once, thy brother now, sends these lines to thee, chaste Neaera, and prays thee to accept the humble gift. He swears that thou art dearer to him than his very marrow, whether thou wilt be his sister or his wife. Better his wife : hope of this title shall only Dis's wan waters take from him when his life is quenched."