وَلَحْظٍ يَكَادُ الْحُسْنُ يَعْبُدُ حُسْنَهُ

وَلَحْظٍ يَكَادُ الْحُسْنُ يَعْبُدُ حُسْنَهُ

إِذا أَقْلَقَتْهُ لِلْعُيونِ المَضَاجِعُ

إِذا أَقْلَقَتْهُ لِلْعُيونِ المَضَاجِعُ

And a glance whose beauty Beauty itself almost worships—

For a moment, beauty almost worships its beauty

When the eyes' resting places make it restless,

When the beds unsettle it for the eyes

تَحَرَّكَ طِفْلُ الغُنْجِ في مَهْدِ طَرْفِهِ

تَحَرَّكَ طِفْلُ الغُنْجِ في مَهْدِ طَرْفِهِ

فَأَجْفانُهُ مُسْتَيْقِظَاتٌ هَوَاجِعُ

فَأَجْفانُهُ مُسْتَيْقِظَاتٌ هَوَاجِعُ

The infant of coquetry stirs in the cradle of his eye,

The baby of the lids moves in the crib of his eyelash

So his eyelids are wakeful, yet slumbering.

So his eyelids are vigilant, desirous