1. The land, its corners fragrant, is verdant,
Green in a dress of finest new weave,

2. And the brooks push to you their rapids,
Diverse, from the clear pools and still deeps,

3. Pure in its essence and its taste is sweetness—
Take of goodness and coolness your fill.

4. The wadis brimmed over. I came, and they were
Like strikes of snakes endowed with great necks.

5. They tend toward murmurous complaint, and sometimes
Snarl—you’d hear them roar like a black lion,

6. And the eddies stirring the pebbles, it’s as if
They had attacked the hours, dull and stunned.