The yellow mustard, clad in a gilded hue,
From every clime, feathered singers fly,
Do moan with joy, spring's bonnie birth renew,
As gentle winds on stream-sides softly sigh.
With ruddy fruits, the burdened branches bend,
My heart beats briefly, new-born blossoms gleam,
Through these fair scenes, naked beauties blend,
I do yearn for you, like waking from a dream.
O, will you come this day, ere life does flee?
My soul ascends, now trembling on my lip,
For what avail, should you then come to see
These flowery groves, when death my spirit strip?
Your silhouette in mustard fields I mark,
Oh, come with favor, and kindle my fading spark.
----Affaq