قَد عُنوِنَ الرَوضُ وَيكَ بِالخُضَرِ

وَسُجِّيَ العودُ وَيكَ بِالوَتَرِ

The garden has been adorned with greenery

And the lute has been strung with melody

وَاِبتَدَرَت أَغصُنٌ دَفاتِرُها

فيها خُطوطُ النُوّارِ وَالثَمَرِ

Branches have opened their notebooks

In which are lines of light and fruit

فَاِشرَب عَلى كاتِبِ السَحابِ فَقَد

أَعجَمَ بِالقَطرِ أَحرُفَ الزَهَرِ

So drink to the writer of the clouds for he

Has dotted the letters of flowers with drops

فَما لَهُ في دَواتِهِ قَلَمٌ

يَنقُطُ حَرفاً إِلّا مِنَ المَطَرِ

In his inkwell there is no pen

That can write a letter but rain