Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.

Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day Breaks time, as dancers. From their own Music when they stray.

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.

There is a garden in her eyes, where roses and white lilies flow.

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.

Beauty is not beauty without love.

Thou shalt prove That beauty is no beauty without love.

Secret fates Guide our states Both in mirth and mourning.

Yet I would not die a maid, because I had a mother, As I was by one brought forth, I would bring forth another.

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore.

Never love unless you can bear with all the faults of man!

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.