Tomorrow let him love who has never loved, and who has loved, let him love tomorrow!
Fresh Spring, already melodious Spring: the world is born in Spring;
loves harmonize in Spring, birds wed in Spring,
and the forest lets down its hair beneath fertilizing showers.
Tomorrow the uniter of loves, among the shadows of the trees,
weaves verdant huts of myrtle branches,
tomorrow Dione declares the law, seated on her lofty throne.

Tomorrow let him love who has never loved, and who has loved, let him love tomorrow!
 
On such a day the sea from a foaming sphere of blood from above
among throngs of blue, among two-legged horses,
created Dione, surging from the billows of the sea.

Tomorrow let him love who has never loved, and who has loved, let him love tomorrow!
 
She herself paints the year purple with flowery jewels;
the buds that spring up under the breath of the west wind
she herself urges into fruitful swellings; of the shining dew,
the exhalation that night leaves behind, she scatters the damp waters.
The sparkling tears tremble with their pendent burden:
a precarious droplet checks its fall in a tiny orb.
Behold, the purple of the flowers has revealed their modesty!
That liquid that falls as dew from the stars on clear nights,
in the morning opens the virginal buds with a watery cloak.
In the morning she herself bade the roses, dewy virgins, to marry:
She who was made from Cypriot blood and from Love's kisses
and from gems and from flames and from purple sunlight 
tomorrow her redness, which lurked beneath a fiery garment,
wedded with a single bond, will not be ashamed to set free.

Tomorrow let him love who has never loved, and who has loved, let him love tomorrow!