nulla meis frustra lustrantur compita plantis; o nimis exitio nata theatra meo, sive aliqua in molli diducit candida gestu bracchia, seu varios incinit ore modos! interea nostri quaerunt sibi vulnus ocelli, candida non tecto pectore si qua sedet, sive vagi crines puris in frontibus errant, Indica quos medio vertice gemma tenet.
My feet pace no street in vain. Alas, the theatre was created all too much for my destruction, whether an actress spreads her white arms in a melting gesture or pours from her lips a tuneful air; all the while my eyes are looking for their own hurt, if some beauty sits with her bosom uncovered or gadding locks wander over a smooth forehead, clasped at the crown by a jewel of India.
final_alignments\Propertius_Elegies_Book2.json