يَقولونَ لَمّا نَمَّ آسُ عِذارِهِ

يَقولونَ لَمّا نَمَّ آسُ عِذارِهِ

سَلا كُلُّ قَلبٍ كانَ مِنهُ سَقيما

سَلا كُلُّ قَلبٍ كانَ مِنهُ سَقيما

They say, when the myrtle of his cheek-down appeared,

They say, when passion's folly died away,

Every heart made lovesick by him forgot its love.

Each heart that felt the bliss had woeful price to pay.

لَقَد كُنتُ أَهوى وَرَدَ خَدَّيهِ زائِراً

لَقَد كُنتُ أَهوى وَرَدَ خَدَّيهِ زائِراً

فَكَيفَ إِذا ما الأَمرُ جاءَ مُقيما

فَكَيفَ إِذا ما الأَمرُ جاءَ مُقيما

Indeed, I loved the rose of his cheeks as a visitor;

The cheeks I loved to kiss, these roamed I over free;

So how will it be when the matter comes to stay?

What if in fixed abode such transient love should be!