And the hexameter's beat gently tapped out on her back,

Fingertips counting in time with the sweet rhythmic breath of her slumber.

Air from deep in her breast penetrates mine and there burns.

Cupid, while stirring the flame in our lamp, no doubt thinks of those days when

For the triumvirs he similar service performed.


VIII

"Can you be cruel enough to sadden me thus with reproaches?

Germans speak, I suppose, bitterly when they're in love.

Bear it I must when the gossips bring forth accusations: I'm guilty--

Or am I not? But, alas, all of my guilt was with you.

Clothes that you've given bear witness for envious neighbors

That the poor widow no more grieves for her husband alone.

Did you not thoughtlessly visit me in the disguise of a cleric,

Muffled all up in a cloak, hair all rounded behind?