O sparrow, delightful pet of my girl,
with whom she is accustomed to play, who she is accustomed to hold in her lap,
To whom, when reaching for it, she is accustomed to give the top of her finger,
And to provoke sharp bites,
Whenever it is pleasing for my shining sweetheart
To make some dear joke,
And comfort for her grief,
So that then, I think, her heavy passion may find rest:
If only I could play with you just as she does,
and lighten the sad cares of my mind.
By Catullus
Translation found hereI do not take any credit for this work
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Labels: ancient latin, ancient latin poetry, ancient rome, Catullus, famous poetry, latin, latin poetry, poems, poetry, roman