أُولَئكَ لَم يَدرينَ ما سَمَكُ القُرى

وَلا عُصُبٌ فيها رِئاتُ العَمارِسِ

Those know not what the fish of the villages is,

Nor have they ribs like the ribs of bridegrooms.

بِعَيني قَطامِيٍّ نَما فَوقَ مَرقَبٍ

غَدا شَبِماً يَنقضُّ بَينَ الهَجارِسِ

With my Qatamite eyes he slept on a scaffold,

And awoke in the morning a dashing cavalier amid warriors.