A Description of Love
I make a proclamation after wild Love, who flew from my bed this very morning.
He is a child, causing-sweet-tears, ever-talking, sharp, fearless, laughing with wrinkled nose, winged on his back and carrying a quiver.
I cannot tell who was his father, for neither the Air, the Earth nor the Sea would boast of begetting him; everywhere and by every one he is hated. Take care he does not set new snares in your souls!
But look! there he is in his lair. I see you, little arrowshooter, hiding in Zenophile's eyes!
He is a child, causing-sweet-tears, ever-talking, sharp, fearless, laughing with wrinkled nose, winged on his back and carrying a quiver.
I cannot tell who was his father, for neither the Air, the Earth nor the Sea would boast of begetting him; everywhere and by every one he is hated. Take care he does not set new snares in your souls!
But look! there he is in his lair. I see you, little arrowshooter, hiding in Zenophile's eyes!
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