Three Poems from Catullus

I really enjoy Catullus, so a while back I tried my hand at translating three of my favorites. Of course, I only loosely translated them. I tried to put my own spin on the cunning ol' versifier.

70

My baby wishes to wear no one's ring
save mine, even if old Jove comes to call.
So she says. What ladies say to hot hearts
ought to be written on wind, white-water.

75

It's your fault, Lesbia! My mind has crashed
under the weight of its worthy labor.
Though saintly, I could not give you respect.
Though wicked, my love for you would not cease.


85

I abhor; I adore. Why? you might ask.
No clue. I only feel this agony.