What for the Sibyl is the word,
And what the form of address
That can most keenly glean from her
The mysteries of success?
What prophet or poet can read the runes,
And what seer can translate?
Who holds the key to the hidden room,
And who knows the forms
That the Gods will take?
We who are mortals cannot know,
What journey's end awaits.
We are the puppets of the Gods,
the playthings of the Fates.
Either to sweet Elysian fields,
Or down to Hades' gates.
