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Without Feeling (Catallus 96)
P
o
e
m
s

If, taciturn, your two graves smile

at my shock, for now not grief,

it’s as if those silted lips revive

the hours spent with me. Tonight,

 

    a quake across not mine, but all

    your friends, whose faces shade,

    and in the weird you left for us,

    an echo bank, this air parade.