Phedre - Closing

I see the sun's ball through a mist,
And you, whom my very presence sickens,
I see you in a mist, darkening.
My eyes go dark. Now the sun's light at last
Can resume its purity unspoiled.

Panope
My lord, she is dying.

Theseus
If only
The results of her evil could die with her.
Come. Now my error of judgement
Is so monumental and plain
Let us go weep at my son's body.
Ley us embrace the little of him that' left
And expiate the madness of my prayer.
We shall give him the honours he has earned.
And to appease his shade,
And is spite of the old crime of your brothers,
Aricis, from today you are my daughter.