يا دارُ بَينَ بُزاخَةٍ فَكَثيبِها

فَلوى غُبيرُ سَهلِها أَو لوبِها

O house between buzzing hornets and its hilltops

Dust whirls in its plains or shifting sands

سَقَتِ الصَبا أَطلالَ رَبعِكَ مُغدِقاً

يَنهَلُّ عارضُها بِلَبسِ جُيوبِها

The morning breeze offered your ruins a generous drink

Its showers dripping from the folds of their garments

أَيّامَ أَرعى العينَ في زَهَرِ الصِبا

وَثِمارَ جَنّاتِ النِساءِ وَطيبِها

Days where my eyes would graze on the blossoms of youth

And the fruits of the gardens of women and their perfume