Spring in the Bowers of Poetry

With the breezes of spring the warmth of life springs up anew, young and fresh... And in spring Nature cries out: "I shall not grow old... my necklace will remain a beauty that departs and then returns!"

* * *

Spring has more than one song in poetry...

To the poet's eye it is an awakener of the soul and a whetter of hope, and to his heart it is a velvet breeze that tickles longings which had almost gone still...

With Safi al-Din al-Hilli, many have hailed the spring:

Spring has arrived — so welcome to its arrival,
to the light of its gladness and the blossoms of its roses

And like Safi al-Din al-Hilli, the poets have made their words dance to nature's tune in the festival of her uprising...

To the dance of the brooks, the ankle-bells of the boughs, the ringing of birdsong, and the glory of perfumed colors...

* * *

And Andalusian poetry — there are no sweeter sashes for the many colors of spring. The Arabs sang it in al-Andalus, and we still sing it, and sing of fertile Arab days in a paradise among the paradises of Europe's west.

Crown, O clouds, the diadems of the hills with jewels,
and make their bracelet the winding of the brook
O sky, in you and on the earth are stars, and whenever
you set one star you bring up other stars
And they pour down nothing but wine and fair figures —
so pour down upon the clusters of the vine that they may fill,
and carry to the wine-jar the taste of honey and cloves...

And the muwashshah of Lisan al-Din ibn al-Khatib sways:

May the rain be bountiful to you when the rain pours down,
O time of union in al-Andalus

Your union was nothing but a dream
in slumber, or the stolen moment of a thief

* * *

And Ahmad Abu Shadi called out to the season of gaiety and good cheer:

Spring of the free, shine forth, O my spring,
and leap for joy with the gentle lamb
And do not veil in shyness, like the maidens,
your radiance or your prayers from my hearing
The fragrance has come to its fullness upon you —
the fragrance of the intercession of love struck down
And there has come to fullness upon you a whispering from boughs
and the murmuring of the buds in reverence
And the shimmer of passion melting into melody
on waves of light above the sown fields
And the hopes of peace, appearing
as stars in the sky and in the meadows

* * *

Spring is the ripening of the genius of the universe... It is the creation of authentic splendor; it is a divine brush that defies the childish, imitative canvases, and a heavenly lyre to which the reed-pipes flock, touching the most wondrous echo, breathing in the freshness of life.

And in the poetry of the Mahjar there is more than one hymn of spring:

The plants have flowered on the hills, and the face of winter
has hidden itself away from before the spring
Heedless of any murky darkness,
beauty reveals itself in every living thing
that heaven has fashioned beneath the sky
And the dew of dawn — through it the dawn is coolness
and peace in the songful garden
Resembling, on the roses, beads of pearl
or tears on the cheek of a beauty
The blossoms open their hearts to the love of the sun and tremble at the embrace of the air
From the roses of their mouths they breathe out enchantment,
heavenly in fragrance, crimson
And daisies like the brows of fair women,
and lavender like the lips of slave girls...

As for the children, they too have their poetry for spring; they cry out with the butterflies:

Winter is gone, spring has come
The red rose has opened
And the green grass has spread
This is the greatest joy
This is the joy of all
Winter is gone, spring has come!!