نَدَىً فِي الأَقْحِوانَةِ أَمْ رِضَابُ

وَطَلُّ فِي الشَّقِيقَةِ أَمْ سَرَابُ

Dew in the cups or a mirage in the iris,

This and that, a mouth and a cup,

فَتِلْكَ وَهَذِهِ ثَغْرٌ وَكَأْسٌ

بِذَا ظَلْمٌ وَفِي هّذَى شَرَابْ

With injustice is darkness and in passion is drink.

The green of slender date palms has stirred

وَخُضْرُ خَمَائلٍ كَسَجُومِ غِيدٍ

قَدْ انْتُقِشَتْ وَرَقَّ بِهَا الخِطَابُ

And the address is adorned with its leaves.

The iris shows it the blackness of ink

يُريكُ بِهَا الشَّقِيقُ سَوَادَ هُدْبٍ

وَحُمْرةَ وَجْنَةٍ فِيهَا الْتِهَابُ

And the redness of a cheek inflamed with love.

The leaves of doves, excellent in every art,

وَوُرْقُ حَمَائمٍ فِي كُلِّ فَنٍ

إِذَا نَطَقَتْ لَهَا لَحْنٌ صَوَابُ

When they speak, their tune is right.

In the shade, its buttons are beautiful

لَهَا بِالظِّلِّ أَزْرَارٌ حِسَانٌ

وَأَطْوَاقٌ وَمِنْ وَرِقٍ ثِيَابُ

And collars, and garments of leaves.

As if the river were a demanding sword

كَأَنَّ النَّهْرَ سَيْفٌ مَشْرِفيِّ

لَهُ فِي كَفِّ صَيْقَلِهِ اضْطِرَابُ

In the grasp of its polish is turmoil.

The right hand of the sun undresses it at times

تُجَرِّدُهُ يَمينُ الشَّمْسِ طَوْراً

وَطَوْراً بِالظِّلاَلِ لَهُ قِرَابُ

And at times it is clothed in shadows.

The sword is reproached when on its sides

يُعَابُ السَّيْفُ إِذْ فِي جَانبِيِهِ

فُلُولٌ وَهْوَ مِنْهَا لاَ يُعَابُ

Are remnants, yet it is flawless.

If you say the loved ones fled in panic,

فَإِنْ قُلْتَ الحَبَابُ انْسَابَ ذُعْراً

وَرُمْتَ الرَّقْشَ صَدَّقَكَ الحَبَابُ

And you cast the veil, the loved one will confirm you.

And for the branches a humility that imitates

وَلِلأَغْصَانِ هَيْنَمَةٌ تُحَاكِي

حَبَايِبَ رَقَّ بَيْنَهُمُ العِتَابُ

Lovers whose rebuke has softened between them.

They bent while the doves sing to them

تَثَنَّتْ وَالحَمَامُ لَهَا يُغَنِّي

كَشَرْبِ مَدَامُةٍ شَرِبُوا وَطَابُوا

Like drinking wine - they drank and were content.