His beauty is equal to a soft, delicate flower,
His hair the color of the sun.
His eyes shine bright as the pale moon
And his face is as perfect as a song.
His body is chiseled as a great heroic god,
His compassion everlasting like the stars.
I never knew someone could have such stars
In his eyes and colored cheeks bright as rose flowers.
I never knew a mortal and a god
Could be so close under the afternoon sun.
The time we spend together is like a song,
Flowing along, caught only by the moon.
Our love should be as immortal as the moon,
As immortal as the stars.
Our love is as beautiful as a song,
And puts to shame the earth's delicate flowers.
My dear Hyacinth, even the sun,
Myself, wishes you were a god.
Perhaps I could make you a god,
That way I could never loose you to the cold, jealous moon.
We could spend our day forever under the sun,
And our nights under the stars.
You would never die like the springtime flowers,
Or perish like the fleeting song.
However, I fear another wishes to share in this song
Which we call love. That deceitful god
Who wants you for himself and will make flowers
Of the love he cannot have. He prays under the moon
To allow you to live for he knows even the stars
Are intimidated by your beauty as bright as the sun.
And it is under the cruel, hot sun
Where you take your last breath and let the Muses sing you a song
As bitter Hades takes you to a place which hides the stars.
Even I cannot erase your fate and make a god
Of you who are dying as the cold moon
Weeps and the West Wind grows from your blood a flower.
I only wish that the cruel sun would let me die with you, but alas a god
Cannot die. And so a song shall be sung in sweet sorrow as my sister the moon
Watches on and the stars reject your company but the earth produces your soulless flower.