He who is fair to look upon is good, and he who is good will soon be fair also.

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.

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.

Someone, I tell you, in another time will remember us

Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear.

Stars veil their beauty soon / Beside the glorious moon, / When her full silver light / Doth make the whole earth bright.

How love the limb-loosener sweeps me away