وما روضةٌ حيّ ثرى أقحوانِها

يضاحكُها في الغيم سِنّ من الضِّحّ

No garden is as beautiful as one whose plants

Smile at the clouds, teeth glistening in the sun,

كأنّ صَبَاها للعرانين فَتّقَتْ

نداها بندٍّ فهي طيِّبةُ النفح

As though its spring were made for nymphs who tied

The breeze into a knot whose scent is sweet.

بأطيبَ من ريّا لماها لراشفٍ

إذا انتبهتْ في الشرْقِ ناظرةُ الصبح

More fragrant than the wind for one awake

At dawn, who sees the sun begin to rise.