Admiror, O paries, te non cecidisse ruinis
qui tot scriptorum taedia sustineas.
I'm astonished, wall, that you haven't collapsed into ruins,
since you're holding up the weary verse of so many poets.
Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio, et excrucior.
I hate and I love. Perhaps you're asking how I do this?
I don't know, but I feel it happening, and it's torture.
Disce quod ignoras: Marsi doctique Pedonis
saepe duplex unum pagina tractat opus.
Non sunt longa quibus nihil est quod demere possis,
sed tu, Cosconi, disticha longa facis.
Learn what you don't know: one work of (Domitius) Marsus or learned Pedo
often stretches out over a doublesided page.
A work isn't long if you can't take anything out of it,
but you, Cosconius, write even a couplet too long.
The Roman Road runs straight and bare
As the pale parting-line in hair
Across the heath. And thoughtful men
Contrast its days of Now and Then,
And delve, and measure, and compare;
Visioning on the vacant air
Helmeted legionnaires, who proudly rear
The Eagle, as they pace again
The Roman Road.
But no tall brass-helmeted legionnaire
Haunts it for me. Uprises there
A mother's form upon my ken,
Guiding my infant steps, as when
We walked that ancient thoroughfare,
The Roman Road.
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