Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter

We doused the special stepped areas of Love's holy forest,

Shaking to earth green organic products, restless after

The starting of the hued moths of Love.

Love's legitimate myrtle and his mom's zone

We bound about our skeptical temples,

Furthermore, chained him with laurels of our own,

Furthermore, spread a dinner in his economical house.

Not yet the god has spoken; however I dread

In spite of the fact that we should break our bodies in his fire,

What's more, pour our blood upon his special stepped area, here

Henceforward is a woods without a name,

A field to the shaggy goats of Pan,

Whence escape everlastingly a lady and a man