وَفاحِمٌ ما لا عَلى الخَدِّ

وَفاحِمٌ ما لا عَلى الخَدِّ

مِثلَ العَناقيدِ عَلى الوَردِ

مِثلَ العَناقيدِ عَلى الوَردِ

And a coal-black lock leaned upon the cheek,

Rosy-cheeked, like clusters on a rose,

Like grape clusters upon roses;

With dimples dwelling on her cheek,

وَصَولَجانُ الصُدغِ مُستَمكِنٌ

وَصَولَجانُ الصُدغِ مُستَمكِنٌ

لِلضَربِ مِن تُفّاحَةِ الخَدِّ

لِلضَربِ مِن تُفّاحَةِ الخَدِّ

And the temple-curl’s polo mallet is poised

Ready for apple's blow and stroke,

To strike the apple of the cheek.

That fair, smooth surface dare to seek.