May I write words more naked than flesh, stronger than bone, more resilient than sinew, sensitive than nerve.
You may forget but
let me tell you
this: someone in
some future time
will think of us
When I look on you a moment, then I can speak no more, but my tongue falls silent, and at once a delicate flame courses beneath my skin, and with my eyes I see nothing, and my ears hum, and a wet sweat bathes me and a trembling seizes me all over.
What cannot be said will be wept.
Beauty endures only for as long as it can be seen; goodness, beautiful today, will remain so tomorrow.
Although only breath, words which I command are immortal.
Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
Someone, I tell you, in another time will remember us
Whatever one loves most is beautiful.
Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.
Love shook my heart/ Like the wind on the mountain/ Troubling the oak-trees
Stand and face me, my love,and scatter the grace in your eyes.
Stars veil their beauty soon / Beside the glorious moon, / When her full silver light / Doth make the whole earth bright.
All the while, believe me, I prayed our night would last twice as long.
I know not what to do, my mind is divided
I took my lyre and said: come now, my heavenly tortoise shell: become a speaking instrument.
Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear.
From all the offspring of the earth and heaven love is the most precious.
Some say an army of horsemen, or infantry,
A fleet of ships is the fairest thing
On the face of the black earth, but I say
It's what one loves.
When anger spreads through the breath, guard thy tongue from barking idly.
Death is an evil; the gods have so judged; had it been good, they would die.
With his venom irresistible and bittersweet that loosener of limbs, Love reptile-like strikes me down
Dancing up the full moon
Round some fair new altar
Trample the soft blossoms of fine grass.
Love, like a mountain-wind upon an oak, falling upon me, shakes me leaf and bough.
There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.
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