My heart is burning.
My grief no mortals know,
Except the yearning!
——-
BOOK V., CHAP. X.
SING no more in mournful tones
Of the loneliness of night;
For 'tis made, ye beauteous ones,
For all social pleasures bright.
As of old to man a wife
As his better half was given,
So the night is half our life,
And the fairest under heaven.
How can ye enjoy the day,
Which obstructs our rapture's tide?
Let it waste itself away;