One gift, beauty rare,
Gold of sunshine in her hair,
Lips that shame the red, red rose,
She'll walk in springtime wherever she goes!

One gift, the gift of song,
Melody your whole lifelong!
The nightingale her troubadour,
Bringing his sweet serenade to her door

Not in death, but just in sleep,
the fateful prophecy you'll keep.
And from this slumber you shall wake,
when true love's kiss, the spell shall break.