O, be my prayer to the gods, Venus Strong waters of Stygian grey, they swell At my feet, whilst I stand yours, Aeneas. Olympus saw our hearts, both in a spell But mortal flesh grows weak in senescence It knew we should never be, for you are Too perfect. I took this, such deliverance From hopeless time, myself at your alter. For if man were to couple with the gods ‘Haps, then earthly loves would not fade so fast Take a gentle godhand, this man applauds Aeneas is now a name for the past She cries, Jove-blessed, ‘gainst my youth diurnal Where a golden sky is ours eternal.