بِأَبي الثّلاثُ الآنِسَا

تُ الرَّائعَاتُ الغَانياتُ

By my beloved three, the pleasant ones

The graceful singing maidens draw near

أَقْبَلْنَ والأصْدَاغُ في

وَجْنَاتِهنَّ مُعَقْرَباتُ

As rosy wine swells in their cheeks

And their eyelids flutter, in gardens they appear

أَلْفَاظُهُنَّ مُؤَنّثا

تٌ والجُفُونُ مُذكَّراتُ

Their words feminine, their glances masculine

As I gaze upon them, for events there are causes

حتى إذا عايَنْتُهُنَّ

وللأُمورِ مُسَبِّباتُ

I embrace them and say: “Your arms are my life”

They blush, until I see their cheeks turn yellow

جَمّشْتُهُنَّ وقُلْتُ طِي

بُ عِنَاقِكُنَّ هو الحياةُ

فَخَجِلْنَ حتى خِلْتُ أَنَّ

خُدودَهُنَّ مُعَصْفَراتُ