Death is an evil; the gods have so judged; had it been good, they would die.
Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
Eros harrows my heart: wild gales sweeping desolate mountains, uprooting oaks.
The moon is setand the Pleiades; Middle ofthe night, time passes by,I lie alone.
Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear.
When I look on you a moment, then I can speak no more, but my tongue falls silent, and at once a delicate flame courses beneath my skin, and with my eyes I see nothing, and my ears hum, and a wet sweat bathes me and a trembling seizes me all over.