Tune igitur demens, nec te mea cura moratur? an tibi sum gelida vilior Illyria? et tibi iam tanti, quicumquest, iste videtur, ut sine me vento quolibet ire velis? tune audire potes vesani murmura ponti fortis, et in dura nave iacere potes? tu pedibus teneris positas fulcire pruinas, tu potes insolitas, Cynthia, ferre nives? o utinam hibernae duplicentur tempora brumae, et sit iners tardis navita Vergiliis, nec tibi Tyrrhena solvatur funis harena, neve inimica meas elevet aura preces et me defixum vacua patiatur in ora crudelem infesta saepe vocare manu!.
Are you then out of your mind, and does no concern for me restrain you? Do I matter to you less than frosty Illyria? And is that fellow, whoever he is, so highly prized by you that you are ready to go without me by any wind that blows? Can you listen unmoved to the roar of the stormy seas and make your bed on a ships hard deck? Can you tread with your dainty feet the hoar-frost on the ground? Can you endure, Cynthia, the unfamiliar snows? Ah, would that the season of winters storms might be doubled and the sailor delayed in port through the tardy rising of the Pleiads, and your cable not loosed from Tuscan strand or the cruel wind make light of my prayers and leave me rooted to the empty shore oft with clenched fists crying out upon your cruelty!
final_alignments\Propertius_Elegies_Book1.json