1. أَيا حَبّذا المَنثور في الرّوضِ وَالرّبى

    يُسلِّي بِمَرآهُ عَنِ الهمِّ مَهموما

    Ah, how lovely the stock flowers in the garden and on the hills!

    Their sight consoles a sorrowful soul, drawing it away from grief.

  2. تَنَظَّمَ منهُ الزّهر فَوقَ غُصونِهِ

    تَأَمّل تَرى المَنثورَ لا شكّ مَنظوما

    Their blossoms are strung in order upon their branches.

    Look closely: you will see the “scattered” stock, without doubt, arrayed.