Naw-Rúz, Naw-Rúz, calls the Live Oak
in hand signals of turning leaves,
in flashing, green smiles
at the earlier rise of day.
And the crickets, in symphony,
and the flocks, in northern flight --
in the irresistible taming of the wind:
the year is changing.
Nature's cold indifference
again remembers her charge,
sending fruit baskets and bright bouquets,
inviting a debuttante Earth
to the gala of her resurrection.
Naw-Rúz, Naw-Rúz, the year is your domain!
and this one day: the crown,
the garland, and the praise,
to befit so everlasting a King.
