Even Beauty must perish: 
though mortals and gods it have vanquished,
not the fast-steeled heart
it moves of the Stygian Zeus.
Only once, at the pleading of Eros,
the Rulers of Hades relented;
Ruthless, e'en then,
he recalled from the threshold of freedom his boon.
No balm Aphrodite
could bring to the fair boy, sore wounded,
there where his tender flesh, fierce and cruel,
the wild boar had torn;
Nor the mother immortal give life
to her god-like hero
when at the gates of Troy falling,
his fate he fulfilled.
But she doth rise from the sea,
with all the daughters of Nereus,
and lifting her voice in lament,
mourns for her glorified son.
See how they weep, the Immortals,
see the goddesses all, they are weeping.
For that Beauty must fade,
that the Perfect must die!
To be even a song of lament
on the lips of the loved one, is glory;
For know, 'tis the common lot
to go down to Orkus unsung!