Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.
Whatever one loves most is beautiful.
Death is an ill; 'tis thus the Gods decide: / For had death been a boon, the Gods had died.
Now the Earth with many flowers puts on her spring embroidery
He who is fair to look upon is good, and he who is good will soon be fair also.
Stand and face me, my love,and scatter the grace in your eyes.