There is a garden in her eyes, where roses and white lilies flow.
From heav'nly thoughts all true delight doth spring.
Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o’erflow with wine... The summer hath his joys, And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights.
Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly;
To every day we live, a day we die.
Never love unless you can bear with all the faults of man!
Guide our states
Both in mirth and mourning.
Thou shalt prove
That beauty is no beauty without love.
Let now the chimneys blaze And cups o'erflow with wine; Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine....
A prudent pharmacist often vends something for your complaint. But wine merchant you do this invariably.
Fortune, honour, beauty, youth,
Are but blossoms dying;
Wanton pleasures, doting love,
Are but shadows flying.
If all would lead their lives in love like me,
Then bloody swords and armor should not be;
No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move,
Unless alarm came from the camp of love.
Lost is our freedom
When we submit to women so:
Why do we need 'em
When, in their best, they work our woe?
All our pride is but a jest. None are worst and none are best. Grief and hope and joy and fear Play their pageant everywhere.
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.
Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.
The man whose silent daysIn harmless joys are spent,Whom hopes cannot delude,Nor sorrow discontent:That man needs neither towersNor armour for defence,Nor secret vaults to flyFrom thunder's violence.
Yet I would not die a maid, because I had a mother, As I was by one brought forth, I would bring forth another.
Beauty is not beauty without love.
My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, And though the sager sort our deeds reprove, Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive Into their west, and straight again revive, But soon as once set is our little light, Then must we sleep one ever-during night. See Catullus 200:5.
Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day; Breaks time, as dancers. From their own Music when they stray.
Fain would I wed a fair young man that night and day could please me, When my mind or body grieved that had the power to ease me. Maids are full of longing thoughtsthat breed a bloodless sickness, And that, oft I hear men say, is only cured by quickness.
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