وَبيضٌ تَهاوى في مُزَعفَرَةٍ صُفرُ

وَهَبتُ لَها قَلبي وَأَخدَمتُها فِكري

A pale one swoons in saffron fragrance

I gave her my heart and devoted my thoughts

فَدارَت بِأَقداحٍ كَأَنَّ فُضولَها

سَوالِفُ تَبدو مِن مُعَصفَرَةٍ حُمرِ

She circulated with cups as if her fingers’ tips

Were tales that seemed made of reddened wine