XVII: Thou art welcome again thou fresh festival of…

Thou art welcome again thou fresh festival of spring!
Thou hast brought joy unto every wild, and every bed of flowers!

Like unto the bird within a cage, the lovelorn nightingale,
Even whilst yet within the egg, longeth on the wing to be.

The folks' garments have been dyed of such a saffron-like hue,
That every bird to the parterre, filled with laughter, hath come.

Look at the rosy-bodied one in this garment arrayed,
Like unto the sun when he approacheth the time of his setting.

In the turban of every pilgrim a bouquet it will place,
When morning's dawn scattereth flowers into its own skirt.

The nightingale's heart towards the gaudy rose is inclined,
Or the flask hath approached the goblet, to pour out its wine.

The rain of perspiration shall fall through shame therefrom,
When the lightning shall behold the gorgeous crop of flowers.

In the same manner as the rose, the beholders of this spring
Have not the least necessity for attar their garments upon.

The musician increaseth twofold wine's intoxicating strength,
When the bacchanals sit down the banquet to begin.

Why, O Shaida! termest thou it, the oyster of the deep profound?
When the pearl unto thy sweet strains its ear hath given.