In Saffron-colored Mantle From The Tides Of

Whatever Day Makes Man A Slave, Takes Half His Worth Away.

Why Have You Come To Me Here, Dear Heart, With All These Instructions? I Promise You I Will Do Everything Just As You Ask. But Come Closer. Let Us Give In To Grief, However Briefly, In Each Other's Arms.

What Greater Glory Attends A Man Than What He Wins With His Racing Feet And His Striving Hands?

Thus Have The Gods Spun The Thread For Wretched Mortals: That They Live In Grief While They Themselves Are Without Cares; For Two Jars Stand On The Floor Of Zeus Of The Gifts Which He Gives, One Of Evils And Another Of Blessings.

Words Empty As The Wind Are Best Left Unsaid.