"She will put up with your eyes.“
Why would women spend The mornings’ precious time On spreading wings of dusk, Hues of sundown over their eyes?
>From their eyebrows, lids,
The evening never leaves
And always lingers, dallies,
Ready in coils on their minds.
So thanks to care and with some art, Even at noon, even in the greatest rush, There it is—the end, the flash of love, The constant of that glance entwined!
Ovid
Fucking amazing poet. I do not regret one minute of the work I did to be able to read him in Latin.
Horace and Catullus are amazing too.