You leave your father in darkness, my Lucia; from light to darkness, little daughter, you are taken.
But yet you are not taken into darkness; you leave darkness behind you and you shine in the sun.
I see you, little daughter, in the heavens. Do you see me? Or do I comfort myself with foolish pretexts?
Only this grave of yours I touch, little daughter; no life is left in this poor dust.
Yet if your soul still lives we should think you happy, for you died young.
And we drag out our life through light and darkness. Was it for this alone, little daughter, you were born?

When I see you among the young men, the very spirit of youth is with me and though I am old I seem to be winged for the dance.
I leap about wildly! Cybele could not surpass me. I would have flowers in my hair.
Grey age be far from me! Like a young man I will dance with the young.
Bring me the life-giving wine of the god and see the strength of the old man who teaches you how to sing, how to drink and how to dance with graciousness!

Poor Hypocrite (tho ne're so rich) whom God shall call
His double, his dissembling soul, how small,
How beggarly his biggest hopes will show!
Riches command no further than below.

The Graces bear in the roses of glittering Spring; the sea wave softens into laughter, the wild-duck dives, the crane takes flight!
The sun burns clear, the cloud shadows are stirred, the works of men are made plain, the earth looks forth with her fruits, the fruit of the olive looks forth.
The stream of Bromius is crowned with leaves, with young shoots; the fruit hangs with the flowers.

When I drink wine, bitter thoughts leave me. Why should I weary myself with tears and anxiety and distress? I have to die and I hate it! Why should I spend my life wandering about?
Drink! Drink the wine-god! Bitter thoughts vanish before him.

We set rose crowns upon our heads, we laugh and drink deliciously.
A fragile girl, with ivy-wreathed hair and a thyrsus in her hand, dances to the lyre. A soft-haired lad plays on the paktis, pouring out his clear voice — sweetness of breathing mouths!
And gold-fleshed Love and Lyaeus and the exquisite Cytherean mingle in the banquet of the old men.

We will drink wine and sing of Bacchus, inventor of dancing, lover of all wild music! He is like the Loves, he is dear to the Cytherean; through him rapture is born and grace brought forth, through him violence is restrained, through him grief is assuaged.
The graceful slaves bear in wine and all sorrow flies away to mingle with the wind-fed storm; we take wine and drink away misery.

If wealth of gold gave life to men they would die — if only they might cheat and gain.
But since life comes to man unbought why should I groan after folly? Why pursue lamentation? If I am fated to die, of what use is gold to me?
Alas! let me drink, drink sweet wine and converse with my friends and worship the Cyprian upon soft beds!

In the mid hours of the night when the Bear had turned around the hand of Bootes, and all the race of those who have speech lay silent, crafty Love beat on the fastenings of my door. I called out: " Who knocks at my door? Who are you who break my dreams? "
And Love said: " Open! It is a child, do not be afraid. I am drenched with wandering in the moonless night. "

I thought in a dream that Love with wings upon his shoulders and lead about his lovely feet, sped by and lighted down.
What does this mean? I think it means that after wandering in Love with many I am now taken from all others and bound hand and foot in this.