Just grant me one summer, powerful fates,
and a final autumn of lucid song,
so that, sated with music’s sweetness, this
soul may wholeheartedly die.
A poet not wielding his sacred might
in life shall find no quiet in Orcus,
yet once I have said the holy words I
came to say, spoken my art,
I’ll welcome then the still realm of the shades…
I will be at peace, although I must leave
all singing and travel alone; having
known the gods, I’ll ask no more.
