مَرَّ بِنا في قُرْطَقٍ أَخْضَرِ

مُزَرْفَنَ الأَصْداغِ بِالعَنْبَرِ

He passed by in a green meadow

Adorning his temples with ambergris

قَدْ كَتَبَ الحُسْنُ عَلى خَدِّهِ

يا أَعْيُنَ الناسِ قِفي وانْظُري

Beauty itself has written upon his cheek

O eyes of people, stand still and look