(After Catullus #51)
It would take a god to sit across from you
and look and hear you sweetly laughing.
Me -- it tears my senses
just to dream you, Claudia:
my tongue slugs, eyes shutter, soft lightning
runs my wires. Oh daydreams
will kill me. They have killed before
both kings and cities.
These are delightful, Erin. Oh dear - you're tempting me with this translation lark, as if I don't already have enough distractions to play with when I should be working. But these are truly delightful. Thank you.