不过，噢，我猜想她长得很丑;她并不优雅;在我的祈祷中，我并没有经常思念她。然而，我抱着她的时候是软弱无力的，什么也没有发生。我只是躺在那里，对她的床来说是一个耻辱的负担。我想要，她也想要;然而，从我懒散的腰间却没有能带来快乐的快乐。那姑娘用她那象牙色的胳膊搂住我的脖子(她的胳膊比西顿的雪还要白)，贪婪地吻着我，伸出她那飘动的舌头，把她那渴望的大腿贴在我的大腿上，低声说着情话，称我为她心中的主，以及情人们欢欢喜喜地低声说的一切。然而，就像冰冷的铁杉涂抹在我的身体上，我麻木的四肢无法实现我的愿望。我躺在那里，像一根木头，一个骗子，一个毫无价值的砝码;我的身体就像一个影子。 What will my age be like, if old age ever comes, when even my youth cannot fulfill its role? Ah, I'm ashamed of my years. I'm young and a man: so what? I was neither young nor a man in my girlfriend's eyes. She rose like the sacred priestess who tends the undying flame, or a sister who's chastely lain at a dear brother's side. But not long ago blonde Chlide twice, fair Pitho three times, and Libas three times I enjoyed without a pause. Corinna, as I recall, required my services nine times in one short night - and I obliged! Has some Thessalian potion made my body limp, injuring me with noxious spells and herbs? Did some witch hex my name scratched on crimson wax and stab right through the liver with slender pins? By spells the grain is blighted and withers to worthless weeds; by blighting spells the founts run out of water. Enchantment strips the oaks of acorns, vines of grapes, and makes fruit fall to earth from unstirred boughs. Such magic arts could also sap my virile powers. Perhaps they brought this weakness on my thighs, and shame at what happened, too; shame made it all the worse: that was the second reason for my collapse. Yet what a girl I looked at and touched - but nothing more! I clung to her as closely as her gown. Her touch could make the Pylian sage feel young again, and make Tithonus friskier than his years. This girl fell to my lot, but no man fell to hers. What will I ask for now in future prayers? I believe the mighty gods must rue the gift they gave, since I have treated it so shabbily. Surely, I wanted entry: well, she let me in. Kisses: I got them. To lie at her side: There I was. What good was such great luck - to gain a powerless throne? What did I have, except a miser's gold? I was like the teller of secrets, thirsty at the stream, looking at fruits forever beyond his grasp. Whoever rose at dawn from the bed of a tender girl in a state fit to approach the sacred gods? I suppose she wasn't willing, she didn't waste her best caresses on me, try everything to excite me! That girl could have aroused tough oak and hardest steel and lifeless boulders with her blandishments. She surely was a girl to rouse all living men, but then I was not alive, no longer a man. What pleasure could a deaf man take in Phemius' song or painted pictures bring poor Thamyras? But what joys I envisioned in my private mind, what ways did I position and portray! And yet my body lay as if untimely dead, a shameful sight, limper than yesterday's rose. Now, look! When it's not needed, it's vigorous and strong; now it asks for action and for battle. Lie down, there - shame on you! - most wretched part of me. These promises of yours took me before. You trick your master, you made me be caught unarmed, so that I suffered a great and sorry loss. Yet this same part my girl did not disdain to take in hand, fondling it with a gentle motion. But when she saw no skill she had could make it rise and that it lay without a sign of life, 'You're mocking me, ' she said. 'You're crazy! Who asked you to lie down in my bed if you don't want to? You've come here cursed with woolen threads by some Aeaean witch, or worn out by some other love.' And straightway she jumped up, clad in a flowing gown (beautiful, as she rushed barefoot off) , and, lest her maids should know that she had not been touched, began to wash, concealing the disgrace. - translated from the Latin by Jon Corelis