The stars that have most glory have no rest.
Love is a sickness full of woes, all remedies refusing.
Sacred religion! mother of form and fear.
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born; Relive my languish, and restore the light.
Striving to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.
We come to know best what men are, in their worse jeopardizes.