1. I yearned for my uncle, and memories of him returned to me,
While the month of Shawwal divided my thoughts with its steps.

2. How violent are the blows to me in the plains of its meadows!
I go intoxicated in the eve and awaken intoxicated in the morn.

3. I roamed them with the wine-pourer while the star was rising—
The emergence of a sharp sword aiming at the throat.

4. It wed me to a wine I accepted its marriage,
And I was infatuated with exaggeration and a high dowry.

5. So I said to our pourer, “Pass me a wine
That will grant wishes and burst forth with my vigor.”

6. The tender-armed pourer rose to strain a draft
That resembles in its cups a melting ingot.

7. It was as though, when the flasks leaned aslant,
The necks of cranes were peering out of a lair.

8. It has a magic that steals minds and an enchantment
That topples me from where I know and know not.

9. Knowing through a wink, as though
My thoughts were addressing it with what my breast contained.

10. It alighted in response to my command,
And freely went where I desired, obedient to my affair.

11. O night that succored me with its goodness!
I will thank it forever with my tongue.