رُبَّ سوداء مقلةٍ هيجتْ لي

رُبَّ سوداء مقلةٍ هيجتْ لي

داءَ وجدٍ أعظم بهِ من داء

داءَ وجدٍ أعظم بهِ من داء

Many a dark-eyed woman has stirred in me

Many a dark-eyed damsel has stirred in me

A malady of yearning—how grievous a malady it is!

A passion more tormenting than any disease;

ليتَ رمَّانَ صدرِها كان يجنى

ليتَ رمَّانَ صدرِها كان يجنى

فهو بعضُ الدَّوا من السوْدَاء

فهو بعضُ الدَّوا من السوْدَاء

Would that the pomegranates of her bosom could be plucked,

Would that her archer's breast were ready prey

For they are part of the remedy for black bile.

To release me from some of my heart's unease.