Classic Poem

Wretched Catullus, play the fool no more:
The lost is lost, the dead forever dead —
White were the suns that gleamed for you of yore,
When roamed your footsteps where your lady led,
O loved by us as none was loved before:
O then I spoke those playful words so dear
That then my lady loved so well to hear —
White were the suns that gleamed for you of yore.

She wishes them no more; and 'tis for you,
Poor weakling, now to cease to wish them too.
No longer strive to follow what will flee:
No longer live the wretch you've lived to be.
But now with steadfast mind, be calm and bear.
Farewell, my child, Catullus now is strong;
He will not ask nor seek you anywhere
Unbidden more.


But you shall grieve for long,
When none will ask. O what a life is there,
Miscreant woman. Who will come, ah who
Hereafter? Unto whom shall you be fair?
Who now will love? To whom shall you belong?
Whom will you kiss? and bite whose lips! —
But you,
Catullus, still remember to be strong.