For fame has spread the story far,
How Phaedra's sister preferred to thee,760
O Bromius, a mortal man.
Ah beauty, a doubtful boon art thou,
The gift of a fleeting hour! How swift
On flying feet thou glidest away!
So flowery meadows of the spring
The summer's burning heat devours,765
When midday's raging sun rides high,
And night's brief round is hurried through.