Whatever one loves most is beautiful.
I took my lyre and said: come now, my heavenly tortoise shell: become a speaking instrument.
Eros harrows my heart: wild gales sweeping desolate mountains, uprooting oaks.
Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
I know not what to do, my mind is divided
Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.