1. Dew in the cups or a mirage in the iris,
This and that, a mouth and a cup,

2. With injustice is darkness and in passion is drink.
The green of slender date palms has stirred

3. And the address is adorned with its leaves.
The iris shows it the blackness of ink

4. And the redness of a cheek inflamed with love.
The leaves of doves, excellent in every art,

5. When they speak, their tune is right.
In the shade, its buttons are beautiful

6. And collars, and garments of leaves.
As if the river were a demanding sword

7. In the grasp of its polish is turmoil.
The right hand of the sun undresses it at times

8. And at times it is clothed in shadows.
The sword is reproached when on its sides

9. Are remnants, yet it is flawless.
If you say the loved ones fled in panic,

10. And you cast the veil, the loved one will confirm you.
And for the branches a humility that imitates

11. Lovers whose rebuke has softened between them.
They bent while the doves sing to them

12. Like drinking wine - they drank and were content.