Works on Parchment
"Many would woo her; she, rejecting all, / Manless, aloof, ranged through the untrodden woods / Nor cared what love, what marriage rites might mean." - Ovid's Metamorphoses
"He sees the loose disorder of her hair / and thinks what if it were neat and elegant! / He sees her eyes shining like stars, her lips— / But looking's not enough!—her fingers, hands, / Her wrists, her half-bare arms—how exquisite! / And sure her hidden charms are best! But she / Flies swifter than the lightfoot wind nor stops / To hear him calling: 'Stay, sweet nymph! Oh, stay! / I am no foe to fear. Lambs flee from wolves / And hinds from lions, and the fluttering doves / From eagles; every creature flees its foes. / But love spurs my pursuit. Oh, you will fall / And briars graze your legs—for shame!—and I, / Alas, the cause of your destress! The ground / Your race across is rough. You run too fast!" - Ovid's Metamorphoses