ولَيْلَةٍ باتَ طَلُّ الغَيثِ يَنْسُجُها

حتى إذا كَمُلَتْ أَضحى يُدَبِّجُها

And one night, the longing for rain wove it

Until when completed, dawn embroidered it

يَبكي عليها بُكاءَ الصَّبِ فارقَهُ

إِلْفٌ ويُضْحِكُها طوراً ويُبْهِجُها

It weeps over it with the crying of morning leaving it

A familiarity, and soon cheers it and gladdens it

إذا يُضَاحِكُ فيها الوَرْدُ نَرْجِسَها

باهى زَكِيَّ خُزَاماها بَنَفْسَجُها

When the roses in it smile with their narcissi

Showing off, fresh with their violet

فقلتُ فيها لِسَاقينا وفي يَدِهِ

كَأْسٌ كَشُعْلَةِ نارٍ باتَ يُوهِجُها

So I said in it to our cupbearer and in his hand

A cup like the flame of fire that spent the night igniting it

لا تَمْزُجَنْها بغير الماءِ مِنْكَ فإنْ

تَبْخَلْ يداكَ فَدَمْعي سَوْفَ يَمْزُجُها

Do not mix it with anything other than water from you, and if

Your hand is stingy, my tears will mix it

أَقَلُّ ما بِيَ مِنْ حُبِّيكَ أَنَّ يَدِي

إذا سَمَتْ نَحْوَ قَلْبي كادَ يُنْضِجُها

The least of my love for you is that my hand

When it reaches for my heart, almost burns it