I was about fifteen years old when I first read this poem by Catullus. I was already full of thoughts of revolt and the overthrow of the established order. But thoughts of the sweet Minoan girl and her milky white bosom came as something of a distraction.
And, indeed, I came to realize that it is better to love one woman well than to love the whole world.
For what is a king or a conqueror, a pope or a revolutionary, a Saint Francis or a Napoleon, or a Theseus for that matter, compared to the poorest Peasant who is a good man to one good woman?
'The Minoan girl, at the water's edge, stares out far, far to see him,
with her suffering eyes. Like a stone statue, like a lover of Bacchus, she stares
so sadly! swept up in great billows of hurt;
blond hair blowing wildly under the delicate scarf ,
bosom scarcely covered by her thin dress.
Milk white breasts unbound, her inner garments fall away
Uncovering her tender body
The salty tide caresses her feet,
But she gives no thought to her dishevelled hair
or her dress that swirls in the wind. Theseus!
with all her heart, her mind, her spirit, this girl needs you!
Oh, poor girl, what endless grief harsh Venus has cast upon you!
She sowed in your heart nettles of hurt
ever since that sorry day when fierce Theseus
left for the curved shore of Piraeus harbour.'
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