"Now, O Bacchus, I prostrate myself at your altars, humble.
Breathe, appeased, O father,
a favorable wind upon my sails.
You can restrain the pride of mad Venus;
In your wine, sorrows find rest.
You unite and divide lovers:
From this evil, release me, O Bacchus."

Poet • Italy • 1st century BC

• Bacchus
• Venus
• repose

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Created by d'Araprì