Letter 11: Procopius tells Zacharias that his voice is better than spring itself.

Release me, along with winter, from your silence. Both are burdensome. If I could hear you speaking all the time, winter itself would not distress me so much. But now you have poured your spring upon me in a full stream. For me, your voice surpasses the pleasure of spring. New light may come with the season; swallows may fill the ears with song, seeming to hymn the hour; roses may rise from the bud and offer a mingled sight that recalls old stories, how Adonis was beautiful and Aphrodite sought him, how the mother of the Loves somehow had to learn love herself, and how, missing her beloved, she struck her foot and brought forth the rose. But for those of us who love, all these things seem small beside your voice.

Ζαχαρίαι Λῦσον ἡμῖν μετὰ τοῦ χειμῶνος τὴν σιωπήν· ἀμφότερα μὲν γὰρ ἐπαχθῆ· εἰ δὲ ἦν διὰ παντὸς σοῦ λαλοῦντος ἀκούειν, καὶ χειμὼν ἂν ἡμᾶς οὐδὲν ἐλύπει τοσοῦτον. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ὅλῳ ῥεύματι τὴν σὴν ἡμῖν ἐπάφες πηγήν. νικᾷ γὰρ αὕτη παρ' ἐμοὶ τὴν ἐκ τοῦ ἔαρος ἡδονήν, εἰ καὶ νέον ἐν τούτῳ τὸ φῶς, εἰ καὶ χελιδόνες ἐν τούτῳ πληροῦσι τὰς ἀκοὰς τῆς ᾠδῆς, ἐμοὶ δοκεῖν ὑμνοῦσαι τὴν ὥραν, καὶ τὰ ῥόδα τῆς κάλυκος ἀναδύντα μέσην τινὰ καὶ κεκραμένην παρέχει τὴν θέαν καὶ εἰς μνήμην ἄγει διηγημάτων ἀρχαίων, ὡς ἦν Ἄδωνις καλὸς καὶ Ἀφροδίτη τοῦτον ἐζήτει, καὶ ἡ τεκοῦσα τοὺς Ἔρωτας οὐκ οἶδ' ὅπως ἐρᾶν ἐπαιδεύετο, τῶν δὲ παιδικῶν ἀποτυχοῦσα πλήττεταί τε τὸν πόδα καὶ φέρει τὸ ῥόδον. ἀλλ' ἡμῶν ἐρώντων ὡς πρὸς τὴν σὴν φωνὴν μικρὰ ταῦτα νομίζεται.