She gathers the white southernwood,
　　By the ponds, on the islets.
　　She employs it,
　　In the business of our prince.
　　
　　She gathers the white southernwood,
　　Along the streams in the valleys.
　　She employs it,
　　In the temple of our prince.
　　
　　With head-dress reverently rising aloft,
　　Early, while yet it is night, she is in the prince's temple;
　　In her dead-dress, slowly retiring,
　　She returns to her own apartments.