دب العذارُ فظن فيه لائمي
أني أكون عن الغرام بمعزلٍ
The first down crept along his cheek, and my censor came at me for it:
that I should hold myself aloof from love.
لا كان ذاك فإنني من معشرٍ
لا يسألون عن السواد المقبل
May that never be! For I belong to a band
who never question the advancing black host.
Sol 5.6