I.1: Cynthia was the first
Cynthia was the first to catch me with her eyes—
I was a young man then, and my heart was free.
She crushed my shame, she dragged my heart away,
and into her camp I was brought, a willing captive.
How I struggled! What a war I fought against her!
But Love came up behind me, and forced me to yield.
Milanion conquered Atalanta by enduring hardships;
so I too must learn to endure, if I would win my love.
For months I wandered through the hills, exposed to rain and cold,
thinking of her, dreaming of her, speaking her name
to the silent rocks. And at last—she yielded.
For three whole years I was her faithful slave;
she was my queen, my goddess, my only light.
But now? She is gone. She has left me for another.
And I am left here, with nothing but my verses—
these poor verses, which are all that remains
of a love that once consumed me utterly.
I.19: Nothing remains without you
All my verses are written for you, Cynthia,
and if you perish, my poetry perishes with you.
When I am gone, let the fire consume my books;
but let my love for you live on in the hearts of men.
II.15: The joy of the present
How I wish that night could last forever—
the night I spent with you, my Cynthia!
The gods envied us our happiness.
Let the world end, if it must—but let this night
never end. For if death comes, let it come
while I am holding you, while I am kissing you.
There is no better way to die.
II.30: Love and poetry
Others may sing of wars and heroes;
my theme is love, and love alone.
While mighty Caesar conquers distant lands,
I conquer Cynthia in my bed.
My battles are not fought with swords,
but with tears and kisses and complaints.
And if my verses please you, Cynthia,
then I am greater than any general.
III.24: Farewell to Cynthia
I have had enough of you, Cynthia—enough of your lies,
your anger, your tears, your cruelty.
I am free at last—or so I think.
But freedom from you is harder than I imagined;
your ghost still haunts me, even in my sleep.
I will go away—far away—to the ends of the earth,
if that is what it takes to forget you.
But I know, even as I write these words,
that I shall never forget you. You are my disease,
and there is no cure.