Thou know’st, my Julia, that it is thy turn
This morning’s incense to prepare and burn.
The chaplet and Inarculum* here be,
With the white vestures, all attending thee.
This day the queen-priest thou art made, t’ appease
Love for our very many trespasses.
One chief transgression is, among the rest,
Because with flowers her temple was not dressed;
The next, because her altars did not shine
With daily fires; the last, neglect of wine;
For which her wrath is gone forth to consume
Us all, unless preserved by thy perfume.
Take then thy censer, put in fire, and thus,
O pious priestess! make a peace for us.
For our neglect Love did our death decree;
That we escape. Redemption comes by thee.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.