There are yet some remains of heat and emotion after the fever:

"Nec mihi deficiat calor hic, hiemantibus annis!"

["Nor let this heat of youth fail me in my winter years."]

Withered and drooping as I am, I feel yet some remains of the past
ardour:

"Qual l'alto Egeo, per the Aquilone o Noto
Cessi, the tutto prima il volse et scosse,
Non 's accheta ei pero; ma'l suono e'l moto
Ritien del l'onde anco agitate e grosse:"

["As Aegean seas, when storms be calmed again,
That rolled their tumbling waves with troublous blasts,
Do yet of tempests passed some show retain,
And here and there their swelling billows cast."--Fairfax.]

but from what I understand of it, the force and power of this god are
more lively and animated in the picture of poesy than in their own
essence:

"Et versus digitos habet:"

["Verse has fingers."--Altered from Juvenal, iv. 196.]

it has I know not what kind of air, more amorous than love itself. Venus
is not so beautiful, naked, alive, and panting, as she is here in Virgil: