Go seek her out all courteously, 
And say I come, 
Wind of spices whose song is ever 
Epithalamium. 
O, hurry over the dark lands 
And run upon the sea 
For seas and lands shall not divide us 
My love and me. 

Now, wind, of your good courtesy 
I pray you go, 
And come into her little garden 
And sing at her window; 
Singing: The bridal wind is blowing 
For Love is at his noon; 
And soon will your true love be with you, 
Soon, O soon.