Long as of youth the joyous hours remain,
Me may Castalia's sweet recess detain,
Fast by the umbrageous vale lulled to repose,
Where Aganippe warbles as it flows;
Or roused by sprightly sounds from out the trance,
I'd in the ring knit hands and join the Muses' dance.
Give me to send the laughing bowl around
My soul in Bacchus' pleasing fetters bound;
Let on this head unfading flowers reside,
There blooms the vernal rose's earliest pride;
And when, our flames commissioned to destroy,
Age step twixt Love and me, and intercept the joy,

Kiss me, Cloris, let me taste to the full your delicate beauty and your many graces, and in this pleasant mead let wandering senses feed at will upon your charms.
Let my mind, languid and trembling, be satiate in your soft nectarous breasts, and with our deeds let us scorn those that would restrain amorous lovers.
I would not make the art of love philosophy, because the little Love-god is not wont to plunge deep in learned books.
Let sight give way to touch, the eye to the lip; let seeing and gazing go aside, since the blind god does not gaze but touches.

Had he not hands of rare device, whoe'er
First painted Love in figure of a boy?
He saw what thoughtless beings lovers were,
Who blessings lose whilst lightest cares employ.

Nor added he those airy wings in vain,
And bade through human hearts the godhead fly;
For we are tost upon a wavering main;
Our gale, inconstant, veers around the sky.

Nor, without cause, he grasps those barbed darts,
The Cretan quiver o'er his shoulder cast;
Ere we suspect a foe, he strikes our hearts;
And those inflicted wounds for ever last.

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. "

1

Who brought thee last night lovely to my side?
Who drew thy warm veil cunningly aside?
Who snatched thee back again so soon, so soon?
Who set this hell-fire burning in my side?

2

Life is so short, yet sleeps thy lovely head;
Why make so soon a death-bed of thy bed?
O love, awake! thy beauty wastes away—
Thou shalt sleep on and on when thou art dead.

O thou whose cheeks are the Pleiades and whose lips are coral,
Thy Pleiades are the torment of the heart, thy coral is the food of the soul.
In chase of those Pleiades my back hath become like the sky,
For love of that coral my eyes have become like the sea.

Methinks, thy down is a smoke through which are seen rose-leaves,
Methinks, thy tresses are a cloud in which is hidden the sun —
A smoke that hath set my stack on fire,
A cloud that hath loosed from my eyes the rain.

Thine eye, by wounding my heart, hath made me helpless;

Akbar sate high in the ivory hall,
His chief musician he bade them call;
Sing, said the king, that song of glee.
 Taza ba taza, now ba now.
Sing me that music sweet and free,
 Taza ba taza, now ba now;
Here by the fountain sing it thou,
 Taza ba taza, now ba now.

Bending full low, his minstrel took
The Vina down from its painted nook,
Swept the strings of silver so
 Taza ba taza, now ba now;
Made the gladsome Vina go
 Taza ba taza, now ba now;
Sang with light strains and brightsome brow
 Taza ba taza, now ba now.

These shores I loved so warmly, shores blest and divine above all others, the faithful home of cherished liberty, the nest of a noble leisured race —
Who would believe it? — lately have fled my heart in such wise that to spend my days with them now pains and often irks me.
All desires and all my thoughts do gaze upon those lovely hills where dwells my lord with his proud eyes.
There, to fulfil my longing, I would gladly spend with him this anxious life that yet remains to me.

The wind blows in along the sea —
Its salty wet caresses
Impart to all the ships that be
A thrill before it passes.

The tide is never at a stand,
A mountain in its motion,
Forever homing to the land,
And ever to the ocean.

And on its fickle, mighty breast
The waters still are moving,
With love in every running crest
And laughter in the loving —

Light love to touch the prows of ships
That slip along so slenderly.
I would as lightly touch your lips,
And your heart as tenderly,

You love me not as I love, or when I
Grow listless of the crimson of your lips,
And turn not to your burning finger-tips,
You would show fierce and feverish your eye,
And hotly my numb wilfulness decry,
Holding your virtues over me like whips,
And stinging with the visible eclipse
Of that sweet poise of life I crucify!

How can you pass so proudly from my face,
With all the tendrils of your passion furled,
So adequate and animal in grace,
As one whose mate is only all the world!
I never taste the sweet exceeding thought