وكأسِ صَهْباءَ صِرْفٍ ما سَرَتْ بِيَدٍ

وكأسِ صَهْباءَ صِرْفٍ ما سَرَتْ بِيَدٍ

إلى فَمٍ ما طَعْمُ ضَرَّاءِ

إلى فَمٍ ما طَعْمُ ضَرَّاءِ

And a cup of unmixed tawny wine that never passed by hand

Like a goblet of pure wine that has never been carried

to a mouth—what is the taste of suffering?

To a mouth without the taste of bitterness—

كأنَّ مِشْيَتَها في جِسْمِ شَارِبِها

كأنَّ مِشْيَتَها في جِسْمِ شَارِبِها

تَمَشِّيَ الصُّبْحِ في أَحْشَاءِ ظَلْماءِ

تَمَشِّيَ الصُّبْحِ في أَحْشَاءِ ظَلْماءِ

As though its passage through its drinker's body

As if its will in the drinker's body

were dawn's creeping through the entrails of darkness.

Walks the dawn into the belly of darkness