There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.
Eros seizes and shakes my very soul like the wind on the mountain shaking ancient oaks.
Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
Now the Earth with many flowers puts on her spring embroidery.
The Moon and Pleiades have set, Midnight is nigh, The time is passing, passing, yet Alone I lie.
I would not think to touch the sky with two arms
In gold sandals / dawn like a thief / fell upon me.
What cannot be said will be wept.
Someone, I tell you, in another time will remember us.
Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.
Dancing up the full moon Round some fair new altar Trample the soft blossoms of fine grass.
When anger spreads through the breath, guard thy tongue from barking idly.
No honey for me, if it comes with a bee.
Whatever one loves most is beautiful.
For some the fairest thing on the dark earth is Thermopylae, And the Spartan phalanx lowering lances to die.
All the while, believe me, I prayed our night would last twice as long.
Would Jove appoint some flower to reign, in matchless beauty on the plain, the Rose (mankind will all agree). The Rose the queen of flowers should be.
If you are squeamish Don’t prod the beach rubble.
I do not know what to do, my mind’s in two.
I will let my body flow like water over the gentle cushions.
Death is an ill; ’tis thus the Gods decide: / For had death been a boon, the Gods had died.
I know not what to do, my mind is divided.
Stand and face me, my love,and scatter the grace in your eyes.
The moon has set In a bank of jet That fringes the Western sky, The pleiads seven Have sunk from heaven And the midnight hurries by; My hopes are flown And, alas! alone On my weary couch I lie.
Eros harrows my heart: wild gales sweeping desolate mountains, uprooting oaks.
Raise high the roof-beam, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man.
Death must be an evil and the gods agree; for why else would they live for ever?