In the bower of begonia flowers,
the rains have come,
dancing and dancing in the fields of cane.
All the peacocks have started
prancing in rhythm.

In the deep, vibrant sounds from the lyres,
the world without rhythm
has found new life.

The fragrance of jasmine
floats in the wet air;
the pollen of the mind smiles
in sweetest love.

Thrilling in blissful rhythms,
the dying trees have all arisen.
All the peacocks have started
prancing in rhythm.