There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.
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.
Death is an evil; the gods have so judged; had it been good, they would die.
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.
Raise high the roof-beam, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man.