The moon has set, and the Pleiades; it is midnight, and time passes, and I sleep alone.

The evening star Is the most beautiful of all stars

Love, like a mountain-wind upon an oak, falling upon me, shakes me leaf and bough.

Death is an evil; the gods have so judged; had it been good, they would die.

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 - bittersweet, irrepressible - loosens my limbs and I tremble.

I do not know what to do, my mind's in two.