Ref. 1003/b: amor, perda e plantas.

Venus, afloat on swansdown in the high blue,
Still far short of Paphos, felt the shock-wave
Of the death-agony of Adonis.

She banked and diving steeply down through cirrus
Sighted her darling boy where he sprawled
Wallowing in a mire of gluey scarlet.

She lept to the earth, ripping her garment open.
She clawed her hair and gouged her breasts with her nails,
Pressing her wounds to his wounds as she clasped him

And screaming at the Fates: 'You hags shall not
Have it all your way. O Adonis,
Your monument shall stand as long as the sun.

'The circling year itself shall be your mourner.
Your blood shall bloom immortal in a flower.
Persephone preserved a girl's life

'And fragrance in pale mint. I shall not do less.'
Into the broken Adonis she now dripped nectar.
His blood began to seethe - as bubbles thickly

Bulge out of hot mud. Within the hour
Where he had lain a flower stood - bright-blooded
As those beads packed in the hard rind

Of a pomegranate. This flower's life is brief.
Its petals cling so weakly, so ready to fall
Under the first light wind that kisses it,

We call it 'windflower'.

[ Ted Hughes: Tales from Ovid, 'Venus and Adonis (and Atalanta)'. ]