Love, like a mountain-wind upon an oak, falling upon me, shakes me leaf and bough.
No honey for me, if it comes with a bee.
I took my lyre and said: come now, my heavenly tortoise shell: become a speaking instrument.
The moon has set, and the Pleiades; it is midnight, and time passes, and I sleep alone.
There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.
Death is an evil; the gods have so judged; had it been good, they would die.