أَقولُ وَالكَأسُ في كَفّي أُقَلِّبُها

أُخاطِبُ الصيدَ أَبناءَ العَماليقِ

I speak, and the cup is in my hand, I turn it around,

I address the prey, sons of giants,

إِنّي يُذَكِّرُني هِنداً وَجارَتَها

بِالطَفِّ صَوتُ حَماماتٍ عَلى نيقِ

It reminds me of India and its neighbor,

The voice of doves on the palm tree reminds me of childhood,

أَفنى تِلادي وَما جَمَّعتُ مِن نَشَبٍ

قَرعُ القَواقيزِ أَفواهَ الأَباريقِ

I wasted my youth and did not gather resolve,

The clinking of goblets, mouths of jugs,

كأَنَّهُنَّ وَأَيدي الشَربِ مُعمَلَةٌ

إِذا تَلَألَأنَ في أَيدي الغَرانيقِ

As if they and the hands of drinking are calloused,

When they glitter in the hands of young men,

بَناتُ ماءٍ مَعاً بيضٌ جآجِئُها

حُمرٌ مَناقيرُها صُفرُ الحَماليقِ

Daughters of water together, their eggs are white,

Their beaks are red, yellow are the carriers,

أَيدي سُقاةٍ تَخِرُّ الأَرضَ مُعمَلةً

كَأَنَّما أَوبُها رَجعُ المَخاريقِ

Hands of water bearers that scratch the ground calloused,

As if their harm is the return of torn garments,

هِيَ اللَذاذَةُ ما لَم تَأَتِ مَنقَصَةً

أَو تَرمِ فيها بِسَهمٍ ساقِطِ الفوقِ

That is the pleasure that did not come deficient,

Or a fallen arrow pierces it from above,

عَلَيكَ كُلُّ فَتىً سَمحٍ خَلائِقُهُ

مَحضِ العُروقِ كَريمٍ غَيرِ مَمذوقِ

Upon you every generous lad, his manners straightforward,

Pure bred, noble, not yet sampled,

لا تَشرَبَن أَبَداً راحاً مُسارَفَةً

إِلاّ مَعَ الغُرِّ أَبناءِ البَطاريقِ

Never drink intoxicated,

Except with daring, sons of heroes.