Many women long for what eludes them, and like not what is offered them.
Pluck with quick hand the fruit that passes.
Nations and empires flourish and decay, By turns command, and in their turns obey.
Very slight violence will break that which has once been cracked.
Pure women are only those who have not been asked.
I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.