66
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MACEDONIUS 66 Every year the harvesters gather in the vintage, and not one frowns on the vines' curling tendrils. I too am a harvester, holding rosy-armed you entwined in the supple knot of my embrace and gathering in the vintage of love. No better summer, no other spring could ever be, for it's now that you are young and full of every joy, and I pray that you will stay this way forever. But if some wrinkle like a tendril comes creeping, I will scarcely blink, because I love you. 85 ...
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