Your hair will prematurely blossom white

"Your hair will prematurely blossom white;

your lifespan will be short;

your day will close before your evening;

your thoughts will perish with their hope betrayed;

your writings will wither without swaying me;

my destiny will cause your ruin;

your death will befall for love of me;

your descendants will ridicule your sighs;

you will become a laughing-stock;

you will build on unstable sand

and paint futilely on the skies!"

The nymph who drives me crazy was making these prophecies, when heaven as

witness to her words

flashed before my eyes the sinister omen of a lightning-bolt.