Whose treasure was life,
Now an unwavering,
Its inexhaustible power,
Crumbling by time and ornament.
From this, Summer watches with a vigil eye,
Waiting for the moment to strike.
The Ides of June should not be taken
Brutus, lurking in the umbra of the impending,
Awaiting his age of triumph.
For his premonitions are filled
With taming the lambent God.
Vade ad victor spolia!
The Ides of June