In His Praise

The freshness the world drew from the breath of spring, the sacred law drew from the breath of the fortunate leader. The lord of the law, who is the judge over the heavens, took a favorable omen from his blessed face. Because the year's beginning stands at his threshold, spring received its crown, the green robe of honor, from him. The morning breeze, that supplier of the perfume box of flowers, kept a fragrance from the master's noble nature as a keepsake. There is a resurrection in the fields: the body that the earth held prisoner for six months comes alive again. Like the dead who cast their shrouds from their shoulders, the blossoming trees put on that very same garment. The old tree whose hair had fallen from its head, once it was bent double, took up a walking staff again. The blessed breath of the morning breeze reached it: it grew young and fresh and embraced its beloved. Within a single week, atop the meadow, it became a bride, was joined to her groom, and conceived. When the thunder beat the drum of good news, the cloud came and scattered royal pearls in tribute. The garden air was cool, and the poor narcissus slept drunk, and at dawn a hangover seized it. Where is winter's silver, that autumn's gold devoured? For from these two faces the earth gained a base of wealth. One sank into the soil, the other blew away on the wind; happy is the one who took a lesson from this state. The world played gently on the silk-strings of the hours of day and night together, and took the harp in its arms. When the king of the wandering planets saw that the affairs of the world had all come to rest upon the pillar of the faith, in the manner of service to him, for the New Year, with his own hand he firmly grasped the neck of the Ram. In the season of spring, a shepherd made the master's flock agreeable with a head or two of the Ram. Though the astrologer reckoned the good and ill of time's turning from the almanac of the seven planets, when he saw the master's judgment and the perfection of his planning, the governors of the sky counted him the eighth. Fate looked into the reckoning of his life span, and out of what had been destined, took one as a thousand.