You're an illusion, Dido,
in a frame of broken glass.
Bleeding at the edges,
maimed on the inside.
Obstinate refusing other men's hands
entrenched in old habits.
You've built a new kingdom,
on the ruins of an old man's land.
There, alighted a lost bird,
pleading for a grain of wheat.
But he ate poisoned bread,
due to your undying generosity,
O unfortunate Dido,
You exasperated heart is healed.
But hit with the wrong arrow,
have you dived into the dark cave.
Blind to the falsehood
of your second darling.
The pain of the first trapped,
the unwanted ring.
Your call for help
dissolves in an infinite echo.
His fleet reached the open sea
and vanishes with your renewed happiness.
Escape the pain in your chest,
the ornate sword levied,
throw yourself into the fire of your sorrow and grief,
to finally fall into Sichaeus' arms.
About the Aeneid (viewed from Dido's perspective)