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Sparrow, darling of my girl, with which she plays, which she presses to her
bosom, to whom she gives her fingertip, arousing sharp bites as he seeks after
it, when gleaming with desire of me she jests a light joke of it, so that, I
think, it is a solace for her pain when the heavy burning is at rest. Could I
but play with you just as she does and lighten the sad cares of mind. ... This
was as pleasing to me as the golden apple was to the fleet footed girl, which
unloosed her girdle long-time fastened.
Catullus. The Carmina of Gaius Valerius Catullus. Leonard C. Smithers. London. Smithers. 1894.
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