They friends became.
But wave and stone,
The ice and flame,
The verse and prose.

Who has ideas and is living,
He looks at people with disdain.

He was beloved... at least was grateful
To have such hope like a balm.
A hundred times is blessed, who’s faithful.

I love you (why should I be cunning?).
They’ve made me marry other man;
And I’ll be true to him till end!

We all to learn had little go
And anyhow something got,
With education, as you know,
We all can shine, and bless it God!

But even such a friendship, readers,
We haven’t now; each of us
Without prejudice considers
The others oils but us as ones.

For love all ages are submissive.

With age the life is such a badness...

Ascribe to fevers of young years
Their young delirium and stress.

He’s blessed, who in his youth was youthful!
He’s blessed, who well in time was ripe.

But nowadays... explain the gist;
To feet of mine what is you leading?
And how, with your heart and mind,
To he the slave of sense, not kind?

Again to waste his day already.
His life’s monotonous and is mixed,
The same for many days is fixed.

I prize my hours, my days:
But I’m in idle boredom wasting
By fate all counted my days.

The less we love a woman
the easier 'tis to be liked by her,
and thus more surely we undo her
amid seductive toils

Our habits are the Heavens' gifts –
They are the substitutes for bliss.