BkI:XIII His Jealousy
When you, Lydia, start to praise
Telephus’ rosy neck, Telephus’ waxen arms,
alas, my burning passion starts
to mount deep inside me, with troubling anger.
Neither my feelings, nor my hue
stay as they were before, and on my cheek a tear
slides down, secretly, proving how
I’m consumed inwardly with lingering fires.
I burn, whether it’s madhouse
quarrels that have, drunkenly, marked your gleaming
shoulders, or whether the crazed boy
has placed a love-bite, in memory, on your lips.
If you’d just listen to me now,
you’d not bother to hope for constancy from him
who wounds that sweet mouth, savagely,
that Venus has imbued with her own pure nectar.
Three times happy are they, and more,
held by unbroken pledge, one which no destruction
of love, by evil quarrels,
will ever dissolve, before life’s final day.
Horace's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (BkI:XIII His Jealousy by Horace )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- chibok girls, ademola oluwabusayo
- Inaudible Words, Naveed Akram
- Russell's Loss, Paul Hartal
- Truth Lies - Kid's Stuff -howtobuilddefe.., sEaN nOrTh
- The Man I Met, Buxton Shippy
- The Penance Of Unguarded Selfishness., Bazi alis Subrata Ray
- Plants Hurt, Naveed Akram
- My love for my birth land, binod bastola
- Critically Evaluating…Lois Lerner's 'Tru.., James B. Earley
- My wondrous dream, Nalini Chaturvedi