Here the zephyr is fragrant with
The scent of sweet love permeating
In the souls, of the young and the old.
The spring has passed by in pomp and
Paraphernalia, in a royal chariot.
Who were in the chariot of spring?
The bride-maids of my daydreams!
The spring receded in a hurry without
Stopping the chariot here and stepping down;
Leaving, without gifting even a tiny blossom.
You are another beloved spring, my virgin season…
In the far off swell of the ocean,
With the beads of blue beryl, who scattered
The enraptured pearls in its lap?
It could only be Orpheus!
What made him leave in a hurry
Without throwing even a tiny pearl into
The river of tears, in this dark dungeon,
Closing the eyes of the mind?
My angel, your eyes are my beryl now,
The blossom of my heart, and I am
The pupil inside it, always visible there.
How stunning is the majesty of youth,
And your passions are of a thousand splendour
What made the great Creator forget to implant
Eyes of the mind to the smiling roses and for
The winged twinges of the soul?
You are the creator of love entrenched in me.
My precious singer, you’re my music too…
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