"You die. O thrice desired,
And my desire has flown like a dream.
Gone with you is the girdle of my beauty.
But I myself must live who am a goddess
And may not: follow you.
Kiss me yet once again, the last, long kiss,
Until I draw your soul within my lips
And drink down all your love."
The mountains all were calling and the oak trees answering,
Oh, woe, woe for Adonis. He is dead.
And Echo cried in answer, Oh, woe, woe for Adonis.
And all the Loves wept for him and all the Muses too.
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