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But I discern their flattery from their praise.

Is it true, or the dream of a lover's desire?

She sighed, she sobbed, and furious with despair,

Accused all the gods, and every star.

Your lay, heavenly bard, is to me even as sleep on the grass to the weary.

Time robs us of all, even of memory.

Here are cold springs, Lycoris, here soft meadows, here woodland; here, with thee, time alone would wear me away.

In the moment I saw you I lost my heart, and a fatal frenzy swept me away.

Songs can even draw the moon down from heaven.

Trust not too much to that enchanting face;

Beauty's a charm, but soon the charm will pass.

Ah, lovely boy, trust not too much to your bloom!

We cannot all do everything.

Time bears away all things, even our minds.