كَأَنَّ مُدامَةً صَهباءَ صِرفاً

تَرَقرَقُ بَينَ راووقٍ وَدَنِّ

As though a gray cloud, pouring down,

Sparkles between orchards and thickets,

تُعَلُّ بِها الثَّنايا مِن سُلَيمى

فراسةُ مُقلَتي وَصَحيحُ ظَنّي

With it the valleys of Sulaima are filled,

Keen are my glances and true my surmise.