You ask how many kissings of you, Lesbia, are
enough for me and more than enough. As great as
is the number of the Libyan sand that lies on
silphium-bearing Cyrene, between the oracle of
sultry Jove and the sacred Tomb of old Battus; or
as many as are the stars, when night is silent,
that see the loves of men, -to kiss you with so many
kisses, Lesbia, is enough and more than enough for
your mad Catullus; kisses, which neither curious
eyes shall count up nor an evil tongue bewitch.



Quaeris, quot mihi basiationes
tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque.
quam magnus numerus Libyssae harenae
lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis
oraclum Iovis inter aestuosi
et Batti veteris sacrum sepulcrum;
aut quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox,
furtivos hominum vident amores:
tam te basia multa basiare
vesano satis et super Catullo est,
quae nec pernumerare curiosi
possint nec mala fascinare lingua.





For Strabo, Meus Amor