Mellitos oculos tuos, Iuventi,
Siquis me sinat usque basiare,
Vsque ad milia basiem trecenta,
Nec umquam videar satur futurus,
Non si densior aridis aristis 5
Sit nostrae seges osculationis.
Those honied eyes of thine (Juventius!)
If any suffer me sans stint to buss,
I’d kiss of kisses hundred thousands three,
Nor ever deem I’d reach satiety,
Not albe denser than dried wheat-ears show 5
The kissing harvests our embraces grow.
Thine honey-sweet eyes, O Juventius, had I the leave to kiss for aye, for aye I’d kiss e’en to three hundred thousand kisses, nor ever should I reach to future plenity, not even if thicker than dried wheat sheaves be the harvest of our kisses.
Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:52