Marvellously lined in rows
Stand pines and fir-trees, warriors proud;
Amidst their roots I used to lie
While gazing at a passing cloud.
Under birches, under limes grow
Sorrel, mushrooms in a glade;
Lovely flowers bloom and flourish
In the dappled light and shade.
Red and scarlet, blue and yellow
Blossoming in sunlit bowers;
All the world is fragrant from
The heady perfume of those flowers.
Butterflies which love the blooms
Return to find out now and then
How they fare; then flit and flutter,
Off once more and back again.
All at once the birds of Allah
Fill the woods with their sweet song.
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Ah, those tunes! They tear my heart-strings;
Up into the sky they throng.
Bird-song outstrips dancing parties,
Orchestras and sidewalk clubs;
Circuses, theatres, concerts -
All replaced by trees and shrubs.
Like the ocean, vast and boundless
Stretch the woodlands in their breadth;
Like the hordes of Chingiz Khan
No limit to their awesome depth.
In an instant old men's stories
Are forgotten; names, domains -
All those glories of the past!
At present nothing much remains
Then the curtain slowly rises
And our present lot we see.
Alas! Alas! What happened to us?
Slaves of God we too must be.
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