Theona

Let us escape from this day's worries!

Theona, let us yield to love,

let us yield to Venus the Cyprian.

May myrtle twisted with verbena

(others will speak of life and its wrongs)

adorn your hair lifted by the tortoiseshell comb.

I will speak of the vipers on the headbands

of the women of Thrace, and the sacred

waters of the springs of Tilfossa.

Fit your body to the cushions' curves,

wear Indian pearls round your waist.

And as the Favonae open again

to the gentle bees, I will speak

of the hours that are gracious and authentic.