أُمَّهاتُ الثِمارِ بَينَ الرَوابي

أُمَّهاتُ الثِمارِ بَينَ الرَوابي

تائِهاتٌ يَلبَسنَ خُضرَ الثِيابِ

تائِهاتٌ يَلبَسنَ خُضرَ الثِيابِ

The mothers of fruit among the hills

Mothers of fruits amidst the meadows stray

Are proud, wearing green robes.

Wearing their robes of green in disarray

وَبَناتُ الكُرومِ تُجلى بِما قَد

وَبَناتُ الكُرومِ تُجلى بِما قَد

صاغَهُ الماءُ مِن عُقودِ الحَبابِ

صاغَهُ الماءُ مِن عُقودِ الحَبابِ

And the daughters of the vines are unveiled with what

While daughters of the vines reveal the beads

Water has fashioned from necklaces of bubbles.

That water wove as necklaces of seeds

فَاِلهُ ما دامَ لِلشَقيقِ خَلوقٌ

فَاِلهُ ما دامَ لِلشَقيقِ خَلوقٌ

تَنثُرُ السُحبُ فيهِ مِسكَ الضَبابِ

تَنثُرُ السُحبُ فيهِ مِسكَ الضَبابِ

So make merry while the anemone still has saffron perfume,

For as long as cornflowers their being keep

In which the clouds scatter the musk of mist.

Clouds strew their musky mists as they weep