Perhaps Out There, Somewhere, Someone Is Sighing

Mere Elegance Of Language Can Produce At Best But An Empty Renown.

I Freeze And Burn, Love Is Bitter And Sweet, My Sighs Are Tempests And My Tears Are Floods, I Am In Ecstasy And Agony, I Am Possessed By Memories Of Her And I Am In Exile From Myself.

When The Poet Died His Cat Was Put To Death And Mummified.

The Aged Love What Is Practical While Impetuous Youth Longs Only For What Is Dazzling.

Where Are The Numerous Constructions Erected By Agrippa, Of Which Only The Pantheon Remains? Where Are The Splendorous Palaces Of The Emperors?