The silver silence of the night has spun
A web of glamour o'er the purple sea.
The Watcher of the Sky has lit his lamp.
Waken, my white one; come thou forth with me.

We will go softly through the shining meadows,
Setting our faces to the distant moon;
Drenching our feet in pureness, and our souls
Drenched in the sweetness of the bulbul's tune.

Come forth, O Maid, the Feast is well prepared.
Between the dim wood and the purple sea
The world hangs breathless and the stars look down.
Waken, Zareiba; come forth with me!