وَبِالقَلبِ ريمٌ لا يَريمُ وِدادُهُ

وَبِالقَلبِ ريمٌ لا يَريمُ وِدادُهُ

وَلَو أَنَّهُ ما عِشتُ يَجفو وَيَهجُرُ

وَلَو أَنَّهُ ما عِشتُ يَجفو وَيَهجُرُ

And in my heart is a gazelle; my love for him never departs,

With a heart full of love that knows no bitterness

Even if he treats me coldly and forsakes me as long as I live.

Though we lived apart till life's last stir

مِن التُركِ إِن قابَلتَ فَالبَدرُ طالِعٌ

مِن التُركِ إِن قابَلتَ فَالبَدرُ طالِعٌ

لِنِصفٍ وَإِن قاتَلتَ فَاللَيثُ مخدَرُ

لِنِصفٍ وَإِن قاتَلتَ فَاللَيثُ مخدَرُ

One of the Turks: if you face him, the full moon rises

Meet him with trust, the full moon rises bright

At midmonth; and if you fight him, he is a lion in its lair.

Fight him in war, the tired lion sleeps at night

تناسَبَ مِنهُ الخَلقُ أَمّا قِوامُهُ

تناسَبَ مِنهُ الخَلقُ أَمّا قِوامُهُ

فَغُصنٌ وَلَكن بِالأَهِلَّةِ يُثمِرُ

فَغُصنٌ وَلَكن بِالأَهِلَّةِ يُثمِرُ

His form is well-proportioned; as for his stature,

His form in harmony with all mankind

It is a branch, and yet it bears crescent moons as fruit.

A branch is he, but with nobility bears fruit

وَيُشرِعُ لي مِن قَدِّهِ سَمهَرِيَّةً

وَيُشرِعُ لي مِن قَدِّهِ سَمهَرِيَّةً

وَلَكن سِنانُ السَمهَرِيَّةِ أَحوَرُ

وَلَكن سِنانُ السَمهَرِيَّةِ أَحوَرُ

And from his figure he levels a straight spear at me,

He opens his generosity unto me

Yet the point of that spear is dark-eyed.

Yet the samhariya's spears are curved inward