Memory of a Dream

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Thou saidst that I alone thy heart could move

And that for me thou wou’dst abandon Jove.

I lov’d thee then, not with a love defil’d.

But as a father loves his only child.

I know thee now, and tho’ I fiercelier burn,

Thou art become the object of my scorn.

See what thy falsehood gets; I must confess

I love the more, but I esteem the less.

From Catullus 72, translated by William Walsh

Poems of Catullus available on Amazon

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