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  • KovacsUr

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    válasz slug #1379 üzenetére

    The youth, returning to his mistress, hies,
    And impudent in hope, with ardent eyes,
    And beating breast, by the dear statue lies.
    He kisses her white lips, renews the bliss,
    And looks, and thinks they redden at the kiss;
    He thought them warm before: nor longer stays,
    But next his hand on her hard bosom lays:
    Hard as it was, beginning to relent,
    It seem'd, the breast beneath his fingers bent;
    He felt again, his fingers made a print;
    'Twas flesh, but flesh so firm, it rose against the dint:
    The pleasing task he fails not to renew;
    Soft, and more soft at ev'ry touch it grew;
    Like pliant wax, when chasing hands reduce
    The former mass to form, and frame for use.
    He would believe, but yet is still in pain,
    And tries his argument of sense again,
    Presses the pulse, and feels the leaping vein.


    Ovidius: Átváltozások (Metamorphoses) X.

    Magyar fordítást nem találtam a weben, de valószínűleg bármelyik könyvtárban fellelheted. Devecseri Gábor fordítása szerintem elég ''értelmes'', úgyhogy nem is versenyeznék vele :)

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