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<h2> VII </h2>
<p>Happily now on classical soil I feel inspiration.<br/>
<br/>
Voices from present and past speak here evocatively.<br/>
<br/>
Heeding ancient advice, I leaf through the works of the Ancients<br/>
<br/>
With an assiduous hand. Daily the pleasure's renewed.<br/>
<br/>
Throughout the night, in a different way, I'm kept busy by Cupid—<br/>
<br/>
If erudition is halved, rapture is doubled that way.<br/>
<br/>
Do then I not become wise when I trace with my eye her sweet bosom's<br/>
<br/>
Form, and the line of her hips stroke with my hand? I acquire,<br/>
<br/>
As I reflect and compare, my first understanding of marble,<br/>
<br/>
See with an eye that feels, feel with a hand that sees.<br/>
<br/>
While my beloved, I grant it, deprives me of moments of daylight,<br/>
<br/>
She in the nighttime hours gives compensation in full.<br/>
<br/>
And we do more than just kiss; we prosecute reasoned discussions<br/>
<br/>
(Should she succumb to sleep, that gives me time for my thoughts).<br/>
<br/>
In her embrace—it's by no means unusual—I've composed poems<br/>
<br/>
And the hexameter's beat gently tapped out on her back,<br/>
<br/>
Fingertips counting in time with the sweet rhythmic breath of her slumber.<br/>
<br/>
Air from deep in her breast penetrates mine and there burns.<br/>
<br/>
Cupid, while stirring the flame in our lamp, no doubt thinks of those days when<br/>
<br/>
For the triumvirs he similar service performed.<br/></p>
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