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Ovid, Metamorphoses

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Time's a cheat, and cheats us all. Time, a thief,

steals from us all. Where does it keep

the years it has taken? Look, here is a man

who yesterday was just a boy. And look who looks

upon that man; who but Love herself, the goddess

Venus, wounded by her son Cupid, a careless lad

who kissed his mother while he still wore his quiver,

scraping her white breast with his barbed arrows.

And what becomes of her? Love, in love, abandons

all her temples and her island sanctuaries, even

hides from heaven, saying that her love is

more beautiful than heaven, more beautiful

than all the sea-ringed islands or rich mountain shrines

or even the voluptuous shade wherein she used to lie.

Love, in love, becomes a huntress, tucking up her robes

and running with bare feet across the rocky world.

 

-- Ovid, Metamorphoses

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