Is it possible for me to carry ardent wishes in my heart?
And in so doing, to see life's wreaths of blossoms,
And walk past them without also receiving a wreath,
And must I not, sorrowing, grow despondent with myself?

Shall I commit the outrage of denying the dearest wish?
Shall I courageously descend into the realm of shadows?
Shall I beseech other gods for other joys,
Shall I ask among the dead for new pleasures?

I descended, but even in Pluto's dominions,
In the depth of night, the glow of love burns
Such that shadows incline themselves longingly toward other shadows.

Lost is he who is not blessed by love,
And even if he descended to the River Styx,
In the glory of the heavens he would remain without rapture.