Şiir 68
Then, yea, thou by thy dying hast broke my comfort, O brother;
Buried together wi’ thee lieth the whole of our house;
Perisht along wi’ thyself all gauds and joys of our life-tide,
Douce love fostered by thee during the term of our days.
After thy doom of death fro’ mind I banishèd wholly
25
Studies like these, and all lending a solace to soul;
Wherefore as to thy writ:—Verona’s home for Catullus
Bringeth him shame, for there men of superior mark
Must on a deserted couch fain chafe their refrigerate limbs:
Such be no shame (Manius!): rather ’tis matter of ruth.
30
Pardon me, then, wilt thou an gifts bereft me by grieving
These I send not to thee since I avail not present.
For, that I own not here abundant treasure of writings
Has for its cause, in Rome dwell I; and there am I homed,
There be my seat, and there my years are gathered to harvest;
35
Out of book-cases galore here am I followed by one.
This being thus, nill I thou deem ’tis spirit malignant
Acts in such wise or mind lacking of liberal mood
That to thy prayer both gifts be not in plenty supplièd:
Willingly both had I sent, had I the needed supply.
40
