(By Michael G.
Donkin, 2016)
Sparrow, o,
Lesbia’s sweet bird
whom she keeps near to stroke
whom she keeps near to stroke
at
her bosom, to whom with delight
she offers a restless finger,
she offers a restless finger,
prodding for
bites, tiny wounds,
if ever my fiery lady needs some
if ever my fiery lady needs some
distraction
from passion’s sweet pain…
o! that I could play with you myself
o! that I could play with you myself
little sparrow,
you would free
my thoughts from despair.
my thoughts from despair.
(By John Nott, 1795)
Dear sparrow!
the pride of my maid,
With whom she in sport often plays;
Whom oft, on
her snowy breast laid,
She toys with a thousand fond ways;
To whom, as
you woo that blest seat,
The tip of her finger she'll move;
Well pleas'd
thy sharp bites to create,
The bites of sweet passion and love:
For thus, when
alone, does my fair
Gay
scenes of new pleasure devise;
Thus sooth of
her bosom the care,
Thus
cool her fierce heats as they rise:
O, my sparrow,
could I but with thee,
Like her, my solicitudes ease!
There must be a hundred other versions, and no translator can ever get it right.
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