1. Its tale he told from the moist branch, and its saliva,
Yet wine is naught but its tale and saliva.

2. A crescent moon, but the horizon of my heart is its place,
A gazelle, but the plain of my eye is its pasture.

3. I bestowed on it the best of every beautiful thing,
And matched it with the subtlest of every meaning.

4. The excellent in repetition set out, my heart its captive,
Despite my tear in passion being set loose.

5. Upon his front teeth, new for flirtation,
And in his lips, aged for kissing.

6. The brown-skinned one tells of habitual brownness,
And a cheek split, breaking the heart of his lover.

7. Of the Turks, no longing for truce anxieties him,
Nor memory of the abodes of Ghuwair desires him.

8. Upon his cheek a flame of beauty kindled,
It grows, but in my heart its burning.

9. If the Yemeni lightning pulsates meekly,
I remember it, so my heart starts pounding.

10. His face tells of the full moon in the sky, so if it appeared
With the moon, people would say “this is its counterpart.”

11. For his like, passion violates propriety,
And for his like, a friend breaks faith with his friend.

12. I see people have become the ignorance of his wild rose,
What's with him that bars every passionate lover?

13. By God, my heart - how great is its chastity!
And if my glance persists in debauchery.

14. So none triumphs but he whose morning
Is the drink of its folds, and from them his ardour.