Book V, 264

Way find fault with my locks grown grey so early and my eyes wet with tears? These are the pranks my love for thee plays; these are the care-marks of unfulfilled desire; these are the traces the arrows left ; these are the work of many sleepless nights. Yes, and my sides are already wrinkled all before their time, and the skin hangs loose upon my neck. The more fresh and young the flame is, the older grows my body devoured by care. But take pity on me, and grant me thy favour, and at once it will recover its freshness and my locks their raven tint.