كَأَنَّ اِبنَ مُزنَتِها جانِحاً

كَأَنَّ اِبنَ مُزنَتِها جانِحاً

فَسيطٌ لَدى الأُفُقِ مِن خِنصِرِ

فَسيطٌ لَدى الأُفُقِ مِن خِنصِرِ

As though its rain-cloud’s son—the crescent—slanting,

As if her child of grace were taking wing,

Were a little finger’s nail-paring at the horizon.

A carpet by the horizon's marge outspread.