Perhaps even these things, one day, will be pleasing to remember.
Who can blind lover's eyes?
They can conquer who believe they can.
I have known sorrow and learned to aid the wretched.
What a lot of work it was to found the Roman race.
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.