كَأَنَّ هِلالَ الشَهرِ قِطعَةُ دُملُجٍ

تَلوحُ عَلى أَعضاءِ مُعتَكِرٍ غاسِ

Like the crescent moon, a piece of brocade

Gleaming over the limbs of one cloaked in mourning,

تَرى الزَهرَةَ الزَهراءَ تَهوي وَراءَهُ

كَما مَرَّ سَهمٌ قاصِدٌ نَحوَ قِرطاسِ

You see the radiant flower drifting after it

As an arrow speeds by, aiming for a parchment