1. The echo of the gardens continuously draws
On the ground from it a sequence that scatters

2. When it flows and sways before the eye foaming
You would think it a plume of eagles scattering

3. And a serpent flows from it, except that it
Lengthens to the extent of the staff and widens

4. And if the morning breeze braided its body
You would think it a column engraved and fractured

5. It has a rumbling that it is accustomed to in its descent
As the palm extends and tightens the rein

6. As if it has in its body a spirit, so that when it flows
A vigor moves it and the body moves with the spirit

7. Yet it is but a teardrop as if its source
From weeping so long does not close its eyes

8. When it roams to irrigate on every side
You see the land it waters flourishing

9. In it, company and the morning remain
And from it, wilderness and night depart