What greater glory attends a man than what he wins with his racing feet and his striving hands?
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the loverโs whisper, irresistibleโmagic to make the sanest man go mad.
Just once I'd like someone to call me 'Sir' without adding 'You're making a scene.'
The natural thing, my lord, men and women joined.
Goddess of song, teach me the story of a hero.