The angel of spring the mellow-throated nightingale.
The touched heart madly stirs,your laughter is water hurrying over pebbles - every gesture is a proclamation,every sound is speech...
...gracious your form and your eyes as honey : desire is poured upon your lovely face Aphrodite has honored you exceedingly...
Once again Love, that loosener of limbs,bittersweet and inescapable, crawling thing,seizes me.
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.
There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.