يَاقُوتَ ياقُوتَةٌ خِلقَةِ البَشَرِ

مَن لَم تَشَقهُ إليهِ الدَّهرُ لَم يُشُرِ

O ruby, O ruby mine, creation of mankind

Who ever it doesn’t tear apart, it doesn’t delight

تَفتَرُّ عَن الأقَاحِي في مَنَابِتِهِ

مِثل السُّدُوسِ نَقِي اللَّونِ ذِي أشَرِ

It shows from the branches in its places

Like white lilies of pure color and finest scent

وإِن تَبَدَّت بِنَادِيها مُغَنِّيةً

تَوَقَّدَ الغَيظُ ما بَينَ السمعِ والبَصَرِ

And if a singer appears in its valley

Anger burns between hearing and sight