إذا وما رنت فالحيُّ مَيِّتٌ بلحظِها

وإن نطقت قلتُ السلام رطابُ

When she sings, the joyful man dies in that moment

And if she speaks, I say “Peace be upon you”

كأنَّ الهوى ضيفٌ ألمَّ بمهجتي

فَلحمي طعامٌ والنجيعُ شرابُ

It is as if passion is a guest that has squeezed my liver

So my flesh is its food and my sobbing is its drink

صبورٌ على الأزم الذي العزَّ خلفَه

ولو أمطرتُهُ بالحريقَ سحابُ

I am patient with the misery that nobility has left behind

Even if clouds were to rain fire upon me

جَزوعاً من الراحاتِ أن أنتجت له

خُمولاٌ وفي بعضِ النعيمِ عذابُ

I disdain comforts if they were to produce for me

Slothfulness, and in some pleasures, torment