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

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

There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.

The moon has set In a bank of jet That fringes the Western sky, The pleiads seven Have sunk from heaven And the midnight hurries by; My hopes are flown And, alas! alone On my weary couch I lie.

Beauty endures only for as long as it can be seen; goodness, beautiful today, will remain so tomorrow.

I know not what to do, my mind is divided

Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.