For spring is here, with all his ancient fires,

Quick with old dreams, and thrilled with new desires,

Vowed to repent, yet sure to sin again --

O leave repentance to your withered sires!

O listen, love, how all the builders sing!

O sap! O song! O green world blossoming!

White as the hand of Moses blooms the thorn,

Sweet as the breath of Jesus comes the spring.

Spring, with the cuckoo-sob deep in his throat,

O'er all the land his thrilling whispers float,

Old earth believes his ancient lies once more,

And runs to meet him in a golden coat.

Omar Khayyam - XI century