Sat the abyss,

the blue marble shines,

stony step of

a steep stair to climb.

Red god and lover,

first to be tread,

that decrepit Jove’s laurels,

may, thorough, be shred.

Reaved the caduceus,

sandals unwinged,

progeny freed

from Ops’ consort’s rings.

Thereafter, the father,

by sickle undone,

reposing before,

the horse master’s run.

Wrest be the horn,

from old Ploutos’ gloom,

that death may die,

in Aevum’s bloom.