Ovid’s Amores, 1:5
A hot afternoon: siesta-time. Exhausted,
I lay sprawled across my bed.
One window-shutter was closed, the other stood half-open,
And the light came sifting through
As it does in a wood. It recalled that crepuscular glow at sunset
Or the trembling moment between darkness and dawn,
Just right for a modest girl whose delicate bashfulness
Needs some camouflage. And then—
In stole Corinna, long hair tumbled about her
Soft white throat, a rustle of summer skirts,
Like some fabulous Eastern queen en route to her bridal-chamber—
Or a top-line city call girl, out on the job.
I tore the dress off her—not that it really hid much,
But all the same she struggled to keep it on:
Yet her efforts were unconvincing, she seemed half-hearted—
Inner self-betrayal made her give up.
When at last she stood naked before me, not a stitch of clothing,
I couldn’t fault her body at any point.
Smooth shoulders, delectable arms (I saw, I touched them),
Nipples inviting caresses, the flat
Belly outlined beneath that flawless bosom,
Exquisite curve of a hip, firm youthful thighs.
But why catalogue details? Nothing came short of perfection,
And I clasped her naked body close to mine.
Fill in the rest for yourselves! Tired at last, we lay sleeping.
May my siestas often turn out that way!
[from Ovid: The Erotic Poems, translated and copiously introduced and footnoted by the inimitable Peter Green]