ere love know moderations

(...)
Fool who would set a term to love's madness, 
For the sun shall drive with black horses, 
earth shall bring wheat from barley, 
The flood shall move toward the fountain 
Ere love know moderations, 
The fish shall swim in dry streams. 
No, now while it may be, let not the fruit of life cease. 
Dry wreaths drop their petals, 
their stalks are woven in baskets, 
To-day we take the great breath of lovers, 
to-morrow fate shuts us in. 
(...)


Ezra Pound, Homage to Sextus Propertius