I. 553-567

Even in this way Phoebus loved her and placed upon the trunk his right hand,
observed her heart even now fluttering beneath her chest
and as in friendship her branches embraced and places
his lips on the wood; then the wood fled from his lips.
To this the god "but, if then my wife you cannot be,
my tree you will be certainly!" he said. "Always will be
my hair, the lyre, the quiver adorned with you, laurel;
you will crown Latin generals, when happy Triumph
voices call and long processions ascend the Capitol;
at Augustan gates you will be a trustworthy guardian
before the crown of the faithful citizen keeping watch,
and as my uncut hair is eternally young on my head,
you will always give the honor of your leaves perpetually!"
Paean finished: the laurel moved its new-formed branches
and seemed to nod her head in the fullest agreement.