Fling wide, oh dawn, thy golden portals
To greet the fairest bride.
Sweetly sound thy lutes, O maidens,
Singing hymns of praise.
Sing of her eyes where shadows sleeping,
Are still as watersprings at eve,
Where swwet as some pale water blossom,
Broodeth the soul of love.

Oh! sing her praises, scent her tresses
With dropping odours from the South,
Till all her garments smell of myrrh,
Sandal and frankincense.
Come, celebrate with joy the festal day,
Let music and let song be made,
For beautiful as goddess of the morning,
Beautiful as Hathor is the bride.