CXVIII TO A WANDERER
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
THE love of women is the most beautiful of all that mortals experience, and thou wouldst think so, Kleo, if thou hadst a truly voluptuous soul; but thou dreamest only vanities.
Thou losest thy nights in cherishing youths who are ungrateful to us. Therefore regard them! How ugly they are! Compare to their round heads, our thick hair; seek our white breasts upon their chests.
Beside their narrow flanks, consider our luxuriant hips, broad, hollowed couches for lovers. Say, above all, what human lips, except hers who wishes it, can elaborate the pleasures?
Thou art sick, O Kleo, but a woman can cure thee. Go to young Satyra, the daughter of my neighbor Gorgo. Her croup is a rose of the sun, and she will not refuse thee the pleasure she herself prefers.