Godlike the man whosits at her side, whowatches and catchesthat laughterwhich (softly) tears meto tatters: nothing is left of me, each timeI see her..
Catullus
Most wretched men are cradled to poetry by wrong: they learn in suffering what they teach in song
poetry men suffering wrong song learn teach
Come boy, and pour for me a cupOf old Falernian. Fill it upWith wine, strong, sparkling, bright, and clear; Our host decrees no water here. Let dullards drink the Nymph's pale brew, The sluggish thin their blood with dew. For such pale stuff we have no use; For us the purple grape's rich juice. Begone, ye chilling water sprite; Here burning Bacchus rules tonight!
poetry water alcohol wine
women poetry romance
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