Quo Vadis?

l offer you my song...
You are away, oh woe me!
The lilies don mourning,

Water grows bitter with poison,
Wine turns into vinegar.
Come, make lilies

white again,
Give water back its taste,

And let wine regain
its nectaric sweetness.

As to the music,
envy should make Orpheus

as green as Lucan is now.
As to the verses...
Pity they are not worse,
because then l could find
fitting words of praise.

l saw you
naked, at the fountain.
You thought nobody was watching,
but l saw you
and l still see you like that,

though now you are dressed.
Cast the robe away.

Take it off, like Crispinilla did.
Beautiful hands...
Oh, what beautiful hands!

l've seen
hands like those. But whose?
My mother's!
My mother's... Agrippina's...
They say
she walks in the moonlight...
at the sea,