Raise high the roof-beam, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man.

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

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

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

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

Whatever one loves most is beautiful.

Now the Earth with many flowers puts on her spring embroidery