Though Rome's gross yoke Drops off, no more to be endured, Her teaching is not so obscured By errors and perversities, That no truth shines athwart the lies.
Therefore I summon age / To grant youth's heritage.
A pretty woman's worth some pains to see.
All poetry is putting the infinite within the finite.
Such ever was love's way: to rise, it stoops.
Brightest truth, purest trust in the universe, all were for me, in the kiss of one girl.