Comments about Propertius
That trust is empty, woman, you place in your beauty's power,
long since grown overproud by my admiring.
Such honors once were paid you, Cynthia, by our love:
I feel ashamed my verse exalted you.
I culled so many beauties and blent them for your praise
so love could believe you were what you were not.
So often I compared your hue to rosy dawn,
when your face gleamed with whiteness you applied.
But what my family's friends could never free me from,