الأَرضُ قَد لَبِسَت رِداءً أَخضَرا

وَالطَلُّ يَنثُرُ في رُباها جَوهَرا

The earth has donned a robe of green,

And dew scatters jewels over her hills.

هاجَت فَخِلتُ الزَهرَ كافوراً بِها

وَحَسِبتُ فيها التُربَ مِسكاً أَذفَرا

She stirred to life; I fancied the blossoms camphor upon her,

And thought her soil intensely fragrant musk.

وَكَأَنَّ سَوسَنَها يُصافِحُ وَردَها

ثَغرٌ يُقَبِّلُ مِنهُ خَدّاً أَحمَرا

Her lilies seem to clasp hands with her roses—

A mouth kissing a crimson cheek.

وَالنَهرُ ما بَينَ الرِياضِ تَخالُهُ

سَيفاً تَعَلَّقَ في نِجادٍ أَخضَرا

The river amid the gardens—you would imagine it

A sword suspended from a green baldric.

وَجَرَت بِصَفحَتِهِ الصَبا فَحَسِبتُها

كَفّاً تُنَمِّقُ في الصَحيفَةِ أَسطُرا

The morning breeze swept across its surface, and I imagined it

A hand embellishing lines upon a page.

وَكَأَنَّهُ إِذ لاحَ ناصِعُ فِضَّةٍ

جَعَلَتهُ كَفُّ الشَمسِ تِبراً أَصفَرا

And when it gleamed, it seemed the purest silver,

Which the sun’s hand turned to yellow gold;

أَو كَالخُدودِ بَدَت لَنا مُبيَضَّةً

فَاِرتَدَّ بِالخَجَلِ البَياضُ مُعصفَرا

Or like cheeks appearing pale before us,

Whose whiteness, blushing with shame, turned saffron-red.

وَالطَيرُ قَد قامَت عَلَيهِ خَطيبَةً

لَم تَتَّخِذ إِلّا الأَراكَةَ مِنبَرا

The birds stood over it, delivering a sermon,

Taking none but the arak tree as their pulpit.