CATULLUS AMONG MEN OF LITERATURE.
61
And yet no word of comfort, no
Kind thought, however slight,
Comes from thy hand. Ah! is it so
That you my love requite?
Kind thought, however slight,
Comes from thy hand. Ah! is it so
That you my love requite?
One little lay to lull my fears,
To give my spirit ease—
Ay, though 'twere sadder than the tears
Of sad Simonides."
To give my spirit ease—
Ay, though 'twere sadder than the tears
Of sad Simonides."
