I will be gone from here and sing my songs/ In the forest wilderness where the wild beasts are,/ And carve in letters on the little trees/ The story of my love, and as the trees/ Will grow letters too will grow, to cry/ In a louder voice the story of my love.

I shudder when relating it.

Enter on the way of training while the spirits in youth are still pliable.

If ye despise the human race, and mortal arms, yet remember that there is a God who is mindful of right and wrong.

Passion and strife bow down the mind

Each draws to his best-loved.

A chaplet of leaves crowns the victor.