Catullus

“ But in such sorrows, O Hortalus, nevertheless I
send you these translated poems of Callimachus,
lest you think that your words, entrusted in vain,
have slipped perhaps from my mind to vagrant winds,
as an apple sent by a fiancé's secret tribute,
runs out from the maiden's chaste lap
because placed under the poor forgetful girl's soft robe,
when she jumps with her mother's arrival, it's cast out,
and in a prone hurry, headlong drives that thing
guilty blush springs from this sad one. ”