Of the sweet evenings here with Flavia!
'Twas here her head upon my shoulder pressed;
Conceal, ye limes, what else I dare not say.
'Twas here she clover threw and thyme at me,
And here I filled her lap with freshest flowers.
Ah! that was a good time!
I care more for moon and starlight than the pleasantest of days,
And with eyes and heart uplifted from my chamber often gaze
With an awe that grows apace till it scarcely findeth space.
To his lady-love he writes: