Book III, Elegy 8: To Sulpicia on the First of March (Postgate)

Great Mars, it is thy Calends, and Sulpicia is dressed for thee. Come thyself, if thou hast wit, from heaven to see her. Venus will pardon this ; but thou, rough god, have a care lest to thy shame thy arms drop from thy wondering hold. From her eyes, when he would burn the gods amain, doth fierce Love kindle his torches twin. Whatsoever she does, whithersoever she turns her steps, Grace follows her unseen to order all aright. Hath she loosed her hair? Then flowing locks become her. Hath she dressed it? With dressed hair she is divine. She fires the heart if she chooses to appear in gown of Tyrian hue ; she fires it if she comes in the sheen of snowy robes. Like her, on everlasting Olympus, bounteous Vertumnus wears a thousand garbs, and wears with grace the thousand. Of all maids only she deserves to receive from Tyre soft wool twice drenched in costly juice, that hers should be all that the rich Arab, tiller of the perfumed field, reaps from his fragrant lands ; yea, all the pearls that the swart Indian, hard by the waters of the Dawn, picks from the red seas' shores. Sing of her on the festal Calends, ye Pierian nymphs, and thou too, Phoebus, proud of thy tortoise lyre. This rite recurring shall be hers for many a year. No maid is worthier of the favours of your quire.