Hymn Beneath the Sycamore of Hathor

Hathor, of gold and gentle flame,Mistress of joy, of song, of sight,Your sistrum sings the heart awake,And sorrow loosens in your light.You pour the wine that sweetens night,You soothe the soul, you heal its shame—Hathor, of gold and gentle flame. In sycamore’s eternal shade,You cradle love in moon-soft hands,Where dancers move and prayers are made,And …

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