by Gaius Valerius Catullus

    Translated by David Mulroy

    Sparrow， the special delight of my girl，

    whom often she teases and holds on her lap

    and pokes with the tip of her finger， provoking

    counterattacks with your mordant beak，

    whenever my luminous love desires

    something or other， innocuous fun，

    a bit of escape， I suppose， from her pain，

    a moment of peace from her turbulent passion，

    I wish I could play like she does with you

    and lighten the cares of my sorrowful soul.

    It thrills me as much as the nimble girl

    in the story was thrilled by the gilded apple

    that finally uncinched her virginal gown.