أَرى صَدر الرِسالَة عين بِر

أَرى صَدر الرِسالَة عين بِر

وَما في ثَديِها أَثَر الحَنين

وَما في ثَديِها أَثَر الحَنين

I see the letter’s opening as kindness itself,

I see the letter’s bosom as kindness itself,

yet within its folds there is no trace of longing.

Yet in its breast there is no trace of longing.