Classic Poem

My grief has ended.
Comes now the season of joy.
For the flowers of Spring are jeweling my green garden.
Let us make ready to walk through its paths.
Go! Tell the nightingale that Spring is here.

And tell the minstrel to come with his lute.
Let him sing us a ballad of the flowers of Spring.
Do not listen to the parrot whispering to the rose
That Autumn will soon be here.

With Spring my love returned to me,
And again I behold the moon of my delight.
Let others have their various festivals.
My only festival is when, in Spring,
I see my mistress' narrow feet
Step through the garden like lisping twin flowers.

Then Khushal Khan puts on his brightest robes,
And he enters the bazaar of his mistress' soft arms.