I am become like the dried mimosa, ripe for the baker’s oven,
The fire of her eyes hath withered it.
When the dove pours forth its plaintive song, Sesen appears beneath the sycamore.
Her slender form is mirrored in the garden pool.
Seeing her, the Moon-goddess pines away with jealousy; the Sun-god bids her shine in his stead.
A full moon is her gleaming face;
The brightness of day glows upon her forehead;
Her full throat gleams like the crystals which encircle it;
The rose of the flamingo’s wing is upon her cheek;
Her eyes, painted with black Thinite kohl, were the gift of Hathor at her birth,