Trust not the horse, O Trojans. Be it what it may, I fear the Grecians even when they offer gifts.
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.
Happy the man who has been able to learn the causes of things.
O you who have borne even heavier things, to these too, God will grant an end!
Yield thou not to adversity, but press on the more bravely.
No day shall erase you from the memory of time