Up from indolent sleep the eyes of the flowers to awake,
Over their faces each dawn the cloudlets of spring water shake.
Denizens all of the now with new life are so filled,
That were its foot not secured, into dancing the cypress would break.
Roses' fair cheeks to describe, all of their beauty to tell,
Lines on the clear river's page rain-drops and light ripples make.
Silvery rings, thou would'st say, they hung in the bright water's ear,
When the fresh rain-drops of spring fall on the stretch of the lake.
Since the ring-dove, who aloft sits on the cypress, its praise
Sings, were it strange if he be sad and love-sick for its sake?

*****

Prince of the Climate of Speech, noble Nish a nji Pasha,
To the mark of whose kindness the shaft of thought can its way never make.
When poets into their hands the chaplet, thy verses, have ta'en,
" I pardon implore of the Lord " for litany ever they take.