Summary

Portrait of Ovid Ovid Amores — Her Hair

Of what use to me is fortune, which never allows me to fail? I love nothing that doesn’t hurt me. Clever Corinna had seen this flaw in me, She knew the manner by which I was able to be taken. Ah, how often faking pains of a healthy head, She ordered me, delaying, to leave with a slow foot!
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ovid Ovid Amores — Her Hair

Take violence far from this place: it is not [hair] which is destined for burning;
The hair itself instructs the pins applied to it.’
The lovely locks have perished, which Apollo and Bacchus
Would wish to have on their own heads;
I might compare them, with those naked Dione,
Painted, once held out with dripping hand.
Why do you complain that badly-arranged hair has perished?
Why do you foolishly lay aside your mirror with woeful hand?
You do not do well to gaze at yourself with opportune eyes:
In order to please, you ought to be forgetful of your former self.
Source: Wikisource

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