All the while, believe me, I prayed our night would last twice as long.
Would Jove appoint some flower to reign, in matchless beauty on the plain, the Rose (mankind will all agree). The Rose the queen of flowers should be.
Love shook my heart/ Like the wind on the mountain/ Troubling the oak-trees
Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
Whatever one loves most is beautiful.
To me the Muses truly gave / An envied and a happy lot: / E'en when I lie within the grave, / I cannot, shall not, be forgot.