1. Sing to me of the valleys of spring and wander,
And describe nature to me, O maid of the countryside.

2. The autumn of the year has passed after its spring,
And how many springs have passed after autumn.

3. O sister rising with the suns, look
At the roses among the blooming and the bud.

4. The birds chirp, so the horizon is gloomy,
It casts clouds on it, and the horizon fulfills.

5. A longing wanders the streams crying
From every gentle spring breeze.

6. Winter gifted it the melody of sorrow,
The clamor of winds and the murmur of the branches.

7. This one gives generously with its tears, and this one
Is between softness in pasture and dryness.

8. I remember our field, and at night
Flowers bloomed in its shade and countryside,

9. And our strolls in the villages of the north, and our hut
Under canopies in the shade of palms.

10. We tossed gazelles with gazelles around us
Embracing, fully covered.

11. The memory of childhood, you alone are for youth
A dream it chases away with delusion.

12. O Lord of a trace of your meadows, lasting,
Whose shelter has shortened and my stay prolonged.

13. I have folded up life after you, wandering
On earth, alone without a friend.

14. The heart averted from youth and its play,
And passed by the loved ones, unfaithful.

15. O Lord of a night that crept into its depths
A group of us walked the steps of a group.

16. We follow the traces of birds, wandering
Among palm trees on the sands of the sword.

17. The ringing of a meadow blossoms here and there,
The star flickers for it and rustles.

18. And the moon, the clouds drilled it as if
A face shone through a thin veil.

19. And the river, chains of murmuring, as if it were
A magical lute of rhythm.

20. Rise, maidens of the countryside, and seek the meadows
Green, and sing of the stream and wander,

21. And take shade under the shaded creek and a place
For art beneath flowers and treetops.

22. A branch on which dawn breaks from its leaves
And ardently kisses the breeze.

23. Where is the stream over which it takes off its mantle,
The work of fingers, outstanding in weaving?

24. How excellent is it as a place for youth to roam
And the hut as a summer home for us.

25. Images descended upon the painter's fingers,
Painted from a composition most noble.

26. They fascinated me with the dream of childhood and passion,
And influenced me with the memory of the nights of the countryside.