Is it, in Heaven, a crime to love too well? Love conquers all things; let us yield to love.
Love in your hearts as idly burns as fire in antique Roman urns. Love can hope where reason would despair. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you. Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings of that mysterious instrument, the soul.
Alas! The love of women! It is known to be a lovely and a fearful thing. Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate.
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