ἀντέρως, id est, amor virtutis.

Anteros, that is, love of virtue

Dic ubi sunt incurvi arcus? ubi tela Cupido?
Mollia queis iuvenum figere corda soles?[1]
Fax ubi tristis? ubi pennae? tres unde corollas
Fert manus: unde aliam tempora cincta gerunt:
Haud mihi vulgari est, hospes cum Cypride quicquam
Ulla voluptatis nos neque forma tulit.
Sed puris hominum succendo mentibus ignes
Disciplinae, animos astraque ad alta traho.
Quatuor eque ipsa texto virtute corollas,[2]
Quarum quae Sophiae est, tempora prima tegit.

Tell me, where are your arching bows, where your arrows, Cupid, the shafts which you use to pierce the tender hearts of the young? Where is your hurtful torch, where your wings? Why does your hand hold three garlands? Why do your temples wear a fourth? - Stranger, I have nothing to do with common Venus, nor did any pleasurable shape bring me forth. I light the fires of learning in the pure minds of men and draw their thoughts to the stars on high. I weave four garlands out of virtue’s self and the chief of these, the garland of Wisdom, wreathes my temples.