Songstress of the valley, who hath ears rapt in pleasure
Thou art the beatitude that brings real joy
The music of thy lute is suffice to inspire peace and leisure
Consists in it a pleasure sweet and coy
Beyond the strictures and dictums of reason consists a freedom
To dwell deep in the dreams of an unchartered mind
Admitted in to passions kingdom
Educated in Love, activity refined
My sad ears dote on each gay note
That swell and rise in supersession
A melody that a troubador wrote
Plucked from the depths of meditation
    Songstress of the valley, I honour you
    Blessed fires run through you