Frater Ave Atque Vale

Row us out to Desenzano, to your Sirmione row

So they rowed, and there we landed O Venusta Sirmio

There to me through all the groves of olive in the summer glow

There beneath the Roman ruin where the purple flowers grow

Came that Ave atque Vale of the poet's hopeless woe

Tenderest of Roman poets nineteen hundred years ago

Frater Ave atque Vale as we wandered to and fro

Gazing at the Lydian laughter of the garda Lake below

Sweet Catullus' all-but-island, olive silvery Sirmio