Here let dead poetry rise once more to life.

Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving, seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly, that, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me.

When I had journeyed half of our life's way, I found myself within a shadowed forest, for I had lost the path that does not stray.

So that the Universe felt love, by which, as somebelieve, the world has many times been turned to chaos. And at that moment this ancient rock, here and elsewhere, fell broken into pieces.

The man who lies asleep will never waken fame, and his desire and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of his memory fade from time like smoke in air, or ripples on a stream.

Lost are we, and are only so far punished, That without hope we live on in desire.

Love kindled by virtue always kindles another, provided that its flame appear outwardly.