The Diwan of Al-Buhturi

Spring has come to you, the pure one, strutting and smiling with beauty until he almost spoke, and Nowruz has awakened in the darkness of the night, the early roses were asleep yesterday, and the dew's coldness opened them, as if it was a secret conversation from before. And from the trees, spring's attire is on him, as if you have spread a finely woven garment.