Muse of the golden throne

Muse of the golden throne, O raise that strain,

Which once thou used to sweetly sing:

Come, Cyprian Goddess, and in cups of gold

Pour forth thy nectar of delight,

Thou and thy servant, Love!

Come, rosy-armed, pure Graces,

sweet-voiced maidens, come

With winged feet, dance round the altar fair,

Trampling the fine soft bloom of the grass.

Hither now, Muses, hither, come!