Dear to girls' hearts is their own beauty.
Where belief is painful we are slow to believe.
How little is the promise of the child fulfilled in the man.
Love is a thing full of anxious fears.
Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength.
Women's words are as light as the doomed leaves whirling in autumn, Easily swept by the wind, easily drowned by the wave.