Fumia, the shepherdess, weaving her garlands, went singing through the flowering meadows; about her and about her in the grass went playfully the Cyprian, her son and the childish Loves. She, turning to the sun, spoke thus:
" Divine, immortal ray, your sacred glow lightens and gilds this happy season, and the fair month of May through you brings back her lovely Flora from heaven to earth; ah! all that here is sad you change to happiness and joy. "

The red wine in a festal cup is sweet,
With sound of lute and dulcimer is sweet;
A holy man who does not think it so,
He too — a thousand miles from us — is sweet.

Let us leave bed and sleep to-day; for us the crimson-fronted Dawn's already risen. Now that the sky is gay in the gracious month of May, Sweetheart, let us love; let us delight our warm desire, for in this world they who do not seize it have no pleasure.
Come, my beloved, come into the wood and hear the jargon of the wild birds' song. Hark how the nightingale is sweeter than them all, yet wearies never! Let us forget all sadness, all regret, and take our joy with her, for Time is flying.

Beer, beer, glorious beer!
Fill yourselves right up to here!
Drink a good deal of it — make a good meal of it,
Stick to your old fashion'd beer!
Don't be afraid of it — drink till you're made of it —
Now altogether, a cheer!
Up with the sale of it — down with a pail of it —
Glorious, glorious beer!

The azure water-lily see, amidst the waters blue,
Now like a burnished gleaming sword, now tinged with sapphire hue;
Color like heaven, and like the heaven, as radiantly bright,
But cup all yellow, as is the moon a fortnight old in light;
Yet like a sallow pious monk during a full year's fast
Wearing from head to foot blue robes, with merit pure amassed.

Oh! were I gathered to the heart of him for lack of whom I die: if Envy should forbid me not to live the rest of my brief days with him:
If, as he held me, he should say: — Fair love, let us be happy each with other, — vowing that neither storm nor strait nor stream should part us in this life:
If, as I clasped him in my arms, even as the ivy clings about the tree, Death took me, envious of my bliss:
Then, as he sweetlier kissed me, as my spirit fled upon his lips, I would indeed die, more than in living, glad.

Methinks the moon of heaven is stricken sore,
And nightly grieveth as it wasteth more.
What late appeared a great, round, silver shield,
Now like a mall-bat enters heaven's field.
The Sahib's horse, you'd think, had galloped by,
And cast one golden horse-shoe in the sky.

So soon as I begin to taste desired repose in my soft bed, my anxious spirit is drawn away from me and doth depart toward you.
And then meseems within my tender breast I hold that joy for which so often I have yearned, for which so wildly I have sighed that oftentimes I was all broken with my sobs.
O gentle sleep, O kindly night! Easy repose, filled with tranquillity! Each night, henceforth, bring back my dream to me:
And if my sad and amorous soul may never verily attain her joy, grant that at least she knows this dear deceit.

For me four sorts of men as types of weakness stand,
Since not a whit of help comes from the four;
The leech, the priest, star-wizard, and the sorcerer,
With drug, prayer, horoscope and with spell-lore.

Long tarrying, I'm lightly held: away!
Even an honored guest too long may stay:
Waters which in the well too long repose
Lose all their flavor, and their sweetness goes.