Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
All the while, believe me, I prayed our night would last twice as long.
How love the limb-loosener sweeps me away
Death is an ill; 'tis thus the Gods decide: / For had death been a boon, the Gods had died.
Raise high the roof-beam, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man.
I know not what to do, my mind is divided