[18] Kingston, Ontario

Propertius, the ultimate emo-boy poet:

1.19

Not now do I fear the gloomy under-realm, my Cynthia,
nor delay the fate owed to my final funeral pyre;
but that perchance my funeral be lacking in your love,
this fear is more cruel than my own funeral procession.
Cupid has so not clung lightly to my little eyes
that my dust may be empty, forgotten by love.
This hero, Proesilaus, was not so forgetful of
his pleasant wife there in these hidden places,
but the Thessalian came to his ancient home as a shade
longing to touch his delight with deceptive palms.
Whatever I am there, I will always be called your shadow;
A great love shall cast me across the shores of death.
Let beautiful heroines as a chorus come
who Dardanian plunder to Argive men gave;
none of whose curves are more pleasing to me
than yours, Cynthia, and (let Earth, just, allow this here)
though the fates of long old age delay you
nevertheless still your bones will be dear to my tears.
May you, living, be unable to feel this when
I am ashes, then death will be bitter to me in any place.
How I fear lest cruel love, since my grave is spurned,
draw you away from my ashes,
and force you, unwilling, to dry falling tears.
Constant threats will persuade a loyal girl
therefore while we can, let us rejoice in our love:
no length of time is enough for lasting love.

Also, here is Catullus' take on a fragment of Sappho

51

... Sweet laughter, misery which snatches every
feeling from me: for once I behold you,
my Lesbia, there is nothing remaining
of my voice in my throat.

But my tongue is numb, a thin fire
steals through my limbs, both my ears
ring with an inner roar,
night shrouds both my eyes ...