Thou ask'st How many kissing bouts I bore
From thee (my Lesbia!) or be enough or more?
I say what mighty sum of Lybian-sands
Confine Cyrene's Laserpitium-lands
'Twixt Oracle of Jove the Swelterer 5
And olden Battus' holy Sepulchre,
Or stars innumerate through night-stillness ken
The stolen Love-delights of mortal men,
For that to kiss thee with unending kisses
For mad Catullus enough and more be this, 10
Kisses nor curious wight shall count their tale,
Nor to bewitch us evil tongue avail.
Thou askest, how many kisses of thine, Lesbia, may be enough and to spare
for me. As the countless Libyan sands which strew the spicy strand of
Cyrene 'twixt the oracle of swelt'ring Jove and the sacred sepulchre of
ancient Battus, or as the thronging stars which in the hush of darkness
witness the furtive loves of mortals, to kiss thee with kisses of so great
a number is enough and to spare for passion-driven Catullus: so many that
prying eyes may not avail to number, nor ill tongues to ensorcel.