وَأَبيَضَ لا نِكسَسٍ وَلا واهِنِ القُوى

وَأَبيَضَ لا نِكسَسٍ وَلا واهِنِ القُوى

سَقَيتُ إِذا أَولى العَصافيرِ صَرَّتِ

سَقَيتُ إِذا أَولى العَصافيرِ صَرَّتِ

And many a fair-complexioned man, neither craven nor weak of strength,

With unfaltering strength and untiring zeal

I plied with wine when the first sparrows chirped.

I poured when the birds began their morning peal

رَدَدتُ عَلَيهِ الكَأسَ غَيرَ بَطيئَةٍ

رَدَدتُ عَلَيهِ الكَأسَ غَيرَ بَطيئَةٍ

إِلى اللَيلِ حَتّى هَرَّها وَأَهَرَّتِ

إِلى اللَيلِ حَتّى هَرَّها وَأَهَرَّتِ

I kept passing him the cup without delay,

The wine I proffered then flowed swift and free

Until night, till he growled at it in loathing and it made him growl.

Till night came on and the stars shone bright to see

فَقامَ يَجُرُّ البُردَ لَو أَنَّ نَفسَهُ

فَقامَ يَجُرُّ البُردَ لَو أَنَّ نَفسَهُ

بِكَفَّيهِ مِن رَدِّ الحُمَيّا لَخَرَّتِ

بِكَفَّيهِ مِن رَدِّ الحُمَيّا لَخَرَّتِ

Then he rose, dragging his cloak; were his soul

He rose and made to pull his robe more near

In his two palms, it would have fallen from the wine’s force.

Lest the wine’s warmth should on his hand appear

وَأَدبَرَ لَو قيلَ اِتَّقِ السَيفَ لَم تَخَل

وَأَدبَرَ لَو قيلَ اِتَّقِ السَيفَ لَم تَخَل

ذُؤابَتَهُ مِن خَشيَةٍ إِقشَعَرَّتِ

ذُؤابَتَهُ مِن خَشيَةٍ إِقشَعَرَّتِ

And he turned away: if told, ‘Beware the sword,’ you would not think

He turned as though a sword was at his throat

His forelock had bristled with fear.

His hair on end with sudden fear and note