Death is an ill; 'tis thus the Gods decide: / For had death been a boon, the Gods had died.

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

Now the Earth with many flowers puts on her spring embroidery

Death is an ill; 'tis thus the Gods decide: / For had death been a boon, the Gods had died.

May I write words more naked than flesh, stronger than bone, more resilient than sinew, sensitive than nerve.

Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.

The Moon and Pleiades have set, / Midnight is nigh, / The time is passing, passing, yet / Alone I lie.