أَمِن نَحوِ العَقيقِ شَجاك بَرقٌ

كَأَنَّ وَميضَهُ رَجعُ الجُفونِ

Did lightning from Carnelian strike you as it flashed,

As if its glimmer were the return of eyelids?

أَيا بَرقَ العَقيقِ أَقِم فَما لي

سِواكَ عَلى الصَبابَةِ مِن مُعينِ

O lightning of Carnelian, stay! For I have none

But you to help me in my ardour.

أَحِنُّ إِلى العَقيقِ وَساكِنيهِ

وَما يَخلو المُتَيَّمُ مِن حَنينِ

I yearn for Carnelian and its dwellers,

Nor can the lover be devoid of longing.