عَذَّبْتُها بالمِزاجِ فابتَسمتْ

عَنْ بَرَدٍ نَابتٍ عَلَى لَهَبِ

I tortured her with my mood, yet she smiled

As though frost bloomed on fire’s flame

كأَنّ أَيدي المِزاجِ قَد سكبت

في كأْسها فضةً عَلَى ذَهَبِ

As if the hands of my mood had poured

Silver into her cup over gold