(Ars Poetica)
Poemata nec de nobilibus solum veniunt Neither come poems only from those who're kind
Animis, neque de illis qui non sacri sunt. At heart, nor from those unsacred.
De quoque modo ne te monstres illae animae In the same way show yourself not to the soul
Qua versus non amatur, quae hunc jactat in igne. To whom verses are priceless, who throw them into fire
Quamquam pluunt aut ridunt horum animae, Even if their souls cry or laugh,
Caelestae_aut non celestae, mansae incognitae, Celestial or not celestial, left unknown
Incognitae ceterae tamen visu maneant, The others would remain unknown to sight
Poetaeque quaerunt si illae iam rideant, And poets ask if they're still laughing
Si hi possint affectus illis iam extrahere, If they can drag their feelings for them any more,
Nequis in oceano poemata ut pluviam jacere. Lest they throw the poems as some raindrops in the ocean
Utique ne te monstres cui versum jactat ignem, Anyway, show not yourself to whom throws verses to fire, (14 feb)
Quod eidem ludum artem esse vident 'Cause to them art is like playing as it seems.
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