Catullus lived roughly 100 years before Christ.  He wrote poetry in Latin.
I found out about him because Corinne found a painting with Lesbia and her sparrow.
He wrote over 100 poems that have survived, 
and in them, there is the love story between him and Lesbia, the love of his life.
I've picked out the love story and left out the rest.
Please take a look.  
It's really an absolutely beautifully written story through poems.  
Do read it.  I wish I could ever match it.  I believe I won't.  
For once, in a few times, before another poet, I feel humble.
(the complete set can be found out http://www.tonykline.free-online.co.uk/Catullus.htm)

THE LOVE STORY OF CATALLUS AND LESBIA

How Many Kisses: to Lesbia

Lesbia, you ask how many kisses of yours
would be enough and more to satisfy me.
As many as the grains of Libyan sand
that lie between hot Jupiter’s oracle,
at Ammon, in resin-producing Cyrene
and old Battiades sacred tomb:
or as many as the stars, when night is still,
gazing down on secret human desires:
as many of your kisses kissed
are enough, and more, for mad Catullus,
as can’t be counted by spies
nor an evil tongue bewitch us.

***

NOTE: Here, Catallus finds out that Lesbia has been cheating on him.

***

Words against Lesbia: to Furius and Aurelius
 
Furius and Aurelius, you friends of Catullus,
whether he penetrates farthest India,
where the Eastern waves strike the shore
with deep resonance,
or among the Hyrcanians and supple Arabs,
or Sacians and Parthian bowmen,
or where the seven-mouthed Nile
colours the waters,
or whether he’ll climb the high Alps,
viewing great Caesar’s monuments,
the waters of Gallic Rhine,
and the furthest fierce Britons,
whatever the will of the heavens 
brings, ready now for anything,
tell my girl this in a few
ill-omened words.
Let her live and be happy with her adulterers,
hold all three-hundred in her embrace,
truly love-less, wearing them all down
again and again: let her not look for
my love as before, 
she whose crime destroyed it, like the last
flower of the field, touched once
by the passing plough. 

***

Advice: to himself
 

Sad Catullus, stop playing the fool,
and let what you know leads you to ruin, end.
Once, bright days shone for you,
when you came often drawn to the girl
loved as no other will be loved by you.
Then there were many pleasures with her,
that you wished, and the girl not unwilling,
truly the bright days shone for you.
And now she no longer wants you: and you
weak man, be unwilling to chase what flees,
or live in misery: be strong-minded, stand firm.
Goodbye girl, now Catullus is firm,
he doesn’t search for you, won’t ask unwillingly.
But you’ll grieve, when nobody asks.
Woe to you, wicked girl, what life’s left for you?
Who’ll submit to you now? Who’ll see your beauty?
Who now will you love? Whose will they say you’ll be?
Who will you kiss? Whose lips will you bite?
But you, Catullus, be resolved to be firm.


***

Familiarity: to Lesbia

Once you said you preferred Catullus alone,
Lesbia; would not have Jupiter before me.
I prized you then not like an ordinary lover,
but as a father prizes his children, his family.
Now I know you: so, though I burn more fiercely,
yet you’re worth much less to me, and slighter.
How is that, you ask? The pain of such love
makes a lover love more, but like less.

***

Chained: to Lesbia

My mind’s reduced to this, by your faults, Lesbia,
and has ruined itself so in your service,
that now it couldn’t wish you well, 
were you to become what’s best, 
or stop loving you if you do what’s worst.

***

Note: Catallus has been aging.  Much has happened. By the next poem he's already old.

***

Past Kindness: to the Gods
 
If recalling past good deeds is pleasant to a man, 
when he thinks himself to have been virtuous,
not violating sacred ties, nor using the names of gods
in any contract in order to deceive men,
then there are many pleasures left to you, Catullus,
in the rest of life, due to this thankless passion.
Since whatever good a man can do or say
to anyone, has been said and done by you.
All, that entrusted to a thankless heart is lost.
Why torment yourself then any longer?
Why not harden your mind, and shrink from it,
and cease to be unhappy, since the gods are hostile?
It’s difficult to suddenly let go of a former love,
it’s difficult, but it would gratify you to do it:
That’s your one salvation. That’s for you to prove,
for you to try, whether you can or not.
O gods, if mercy is yours, or if you ever brought help
to a man at the very moment of his death,
gaze at my pain and, if I’ve lived purely,
lift this plague, this destruction from me,
so that the torpor that creeps into my body’s depths
drives out every joy from my heart. 
I no longer ask that she loves me to my face,
or, the impossible, that she be chaste:
I choose health, and to rid myself of this foul illness.
O gods, grant me this for all my kindness.

***

Love-Hate
 
I hate and love. And why I do, perhaps you ask.
I don’t know: but I feel, and I’m tormented.

***

Incomparable: to Lesbia
 

No woman can say she’s been loved so much,
as my Lesbia in truth’s been loved by me.
No faith in any tie was ever so great,
as has been found, on my part, in love of you.

***

Monstrous
 

Do you think I could speak ill of my own life,
she who’s dearer to me than my two eyes?
I couldn’t, nor, if I could, would I love so desperately:
but you, with Tappo, you do everything monstrous.

***

Back Again: to Lesbia
 
If anything happens to one who desires it, and wishes and never expects it, it’s a special delight to the mind.
Likewise, this is delight, dearer than gold, to me,
that you come back to me, Lesbia, in my longing.
come back, desired and un-hoped for, give yourself
back to me. O day marked out with greater brightness!
who exists more happily than me, or can say
that he wishes for any life greater than this?

***

A Prayer: to Lesbia
 

You declare that this love of ours will be happy, 
mea vita, and eternal between us.
Great gods, let it be that she promises truthfully,
and says it sincerely, and from her heart,
so we may extend, through the whole of our life,
this endless bond of sacred friendship.

(They live together, happily, for a short time before Catallus dies of old age)
***

A message I sent to the translator:

Mr. Kline, your translation of Catallus's poems is absolutely magnificent.  You've done a wonderful job of exuding the love he felt for Lesbia.  I have fallen in love with the story and shall never let it go.  I thank you for translating and giving me something that has become one of my favorite stories in the world.