Catullus 7

You ask me how many kisses of yours, Lesbia, are enough and too many. As great the number of the Libyan sand lies on silphium-bearing Cyrene between the oracle of sweltering Jove and sacred tomb of old Battus; or as the many stars, when the night is quiet, see the furtive loves of humans: that you kiss so many kisses is enough and too many for (your) mad Catullus, which neither busybodies can count nor an evil tongue (is able) to curse.