The fires that burn within them scatter flaming darts;
Countless as the desert sands are the victims of those eyes!
Waving is her slender form, like the palm trees of Erment.
The dark shades of night hide in her hair, fragrant with musk and myrrh.
A pomegranate is her mouth, her little teeth bright mother-of-pearl.
By day she perfumes the air with the odors of the Incense Land.
Her luster illuminates the darkest night!
Ah, deign to heed my pleading, Daughter of Hathor!
As apart from thee, I am as one among the Silent Ones; as one whose mouth has not been opened.
Ask the Moon-goddess of my bitter state.