O desert goddess, moon-kissed wanderer;
Music follows you where e'er you walk
Yes, you, the muse that speeds to me these words
That like the lioness their prey does stalk,

It's you, perfumed protector, that I talk
Or write, if it's precision you desire.
I'm sure at your great visage some would balk,
But in me only burns a greater fire.

Oh mother, would that you would take me high'r
Within your arms, away from this cruel plane.
The both of us, your chambers to retire
A sacred haven far away from pain.

I, lowly, can but look at you above.
Will I, a mortal, ever know your love?