أَلا رُبَّ خَمّارٍ طَرَقتُ بِسُدفَةٍ

مِنَ اللَيلِ مُرتاداً لِنُدمانِيَ الخَمرا

Alas, how many a tavern I’ve stopped at by night,

Seeking revelry, to dispel my cares!

فَأَنهَلتُهُ خَمراً وَأَحلِفُ إِنَّها

طِلاءٌ حَلالٌ كَي يُحَمِّلَني الوِزرا

I served him wine, swearing it was licit,

A lawful potion, though it would burden me with sin.

أَعُلَّفَ إِنَّ الصَقرَ لَيسَ بِمُدلِجٍ

وَلَكِنَّهُ بِاللَيلِ مُتَّخِذٌ وَكرا

In truth the falcon rests not in his nest at night,

But rather he makes his abode in a cleft,

وَمُفتَرِشٌ بَينَ الجَناحَينِ سَلحَهُ

إِذَا اللَيلُ أَلقى فَوقَ خُرطومِهِ كِسرا

Spreading his wings there when night casts

Its darkness over his beak’s tip.

فَإِن يَكُ صَقراً بَعدَ لَيلَةِ أُمِّهِ

وَلَيلَةِ جَحّافٍ فَأُفٍّ لَهُ صَقرا

If after his mother’s night and a night

Of wailing he’s still a falcon, shame on him!

تَشُدُّ بِكَفَّيها عَلى جِذلِ أَيرِهِ

إِذا هِيَ خافَت مِن مَطِيَّتِها نَفرا

With both hands she clutches his pliant nape

When her riding beast shies from his boldness.