The tomb of Paris the actor.

Traveller, who treads the Flaminian Way,
don’t pass this noble marble by.
the wit of the Nile, the city’s delight,
grace and art, and pleasure and play,
the worth and grief of the Roman stage,
and every Venus, and every Cupid,
here in Paris’s tomb, together, buried, lie.

Martialis, book XI:13.

V. THE LOVERS' CREED

Lesbia, let us love and live,
While the greybeards shake their fingers!
Not a penny will we give
For their talk while life still lingers.

Suns may set and suns may rise,
But, as soon as we are bidden,
We must close in sleep our eyes
For ever, and our light be hidden.

Kiss me then a thousand times
Give me yet a hundred kisses
Kiss, until the number climbs,
And till one or other misses!

Then, when all the kissing's done,
Lest some jealous fellow see it,
We'll destroy the tally run,
Set the number loose, and free it!

He is more than a hero

He is more than a hero
he is a god in my eyes—
the man who is allowed
to sit beside you — he

who listens intimately
to the sweet murmur of
your voice, the enticing

laughter that makes my own
heart beat fast. If I meet
you suddenly, I can't

speak — my tongue is broken;
a thin flame runs under
my skin; seeing nothing,

hearing only my own ears
drumming, I drip with sweat;
trembling shakes my body

and I turn paler than
dry grass. At such times
death isn't far from me.

(Sappho, from Lesbos, Greece, b. 615- d.around 550 B.C.)