A white doe on the green grass appeared to me, with two golden
horns, between two rivers, in the shade of a laurel, when the sun
was rising in the unripe season.
Her look was so sweet and proud that to follow her I left every task,
like the miser who as he seeks treasure sweetens his trouble with
“Let no one touch me,” she bore written with diamonds and topazes
around her lovely neck. “It has pleased my Caesar to make me free.”
And the sun had already turned at midday; my eyes were tired by
looking but not sated, when I fell into the water, and she
– Rima 190, by Petrarch (b.1304- d.1374)
One for the writers. Sometimes the sentence or the success is as fleet as deer, and always out of reach. Sometimes even deer are happy to be in our company, for a while.