Poems - A Dedication To whom do I dedicate the pleasant little book polished dry with a pumice stone Cornelius to you for you were accustomed to think

A Dedication To whom do I dedicate the pleasant little book polished dry with a pumice stone? Cornelius, to you, for you were accustomed to think my nonsense worth something already when you alone of the Italians dared to explain all ages in three labored scrolls, oh Jupiter, and labored over therefore, have for yourself this book, whatever it is O protectress maiden, may it remain lasting, for more than one century. How Many Kisses You ask how many kisses, Lesbia, will be enough for me. As big a number as the Libyan sands that lie laserpicium-bearing at Cyrene or how many stars, with the silent night, see the secret loves of men. So many kisses are enough and more for insane Catullus to kiss you. Death of a Pet Sparrow Mourn, oh Venuses and Coups and how many charming people! The girl’s sparrow is dead, the sparrow- delight of my girl who that girl loved more than her own eyes. For he was honey sweet, and had known the girl better than a girl knows her mother.