Mother of Rome, delight of Gods and men, Dear Venus that beneath the gliding stars Makest to teem the many-voyaged main And fruitful lands- for all of living things Through thee alone are evermore conceived, Through thee are risen to visit the great sun- Before thee, Goddess, and thy coming on, Flee stormy wind and massy cloud away, For thee the daedal Earth bears scented flowers, For thee waters of the unvexed deep Smile, and the hollows of the serene sky Glow with diffused radiance for thee!
For thee the wonder-working earth puts forth sweet flowers.
From the heart of this fountain of delights wells up some bitter taste to choke them even amid the flowers.
From the midst of the very fountain of pleasure, something of bitterness arises to vex us in the flower of enjoyment.
In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers.
From the heart of the fountain of delight rises a jet of bitterness that tortures us among the very flowers.
From the very fountain of enchantment there arises a taste of bitterness to spread anguish amongst the flowers.
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