Here’s a little reverie on Love, Latin, and Learning
You were indeed my teacher, more than that,
Sole Magistra amidst the magisters,
I conjured you that I might conjugate.
Summon me now, and the whole register
Of love and loving answers to your call.
I lift my lines like water from a well,
Spilling in sound, amo, amas, amat,
A puer’s poor libation, at your feet.
My thankless muse, I meditate you now,
Your quick dark eyes still piercing my defence,
Your untouched hand touching the golden bough.
My mistress in the school of eloquence,
Strict arbitress of sentences and fines,
I asked for life, you gave me fourteen lines.