سَقى شُعَبَ المَمدورِ يا أُمَّ جَحدَرٍ

وَلازالَ يُسقى سِدرُهُ وَغُرانِقُه

He watered the rounded hills, O mother of ruggedness

And his lote-trees are still watered and his slender date-palms

أَحَمُّ جَماديٌّ تَهَلَلَ موصِلاً

تُشَقِّقُ أَعرافَ السَّحابِ بَوارِقُه

A roaring, thunderous cloud rejoiced as it arrived

Its lightnings cleave the clouds' thickets

نَصَبتُ لَهُ وَجهي وَأَصهَبَ ضامِراً

قَدِ إِبيَضَّ مِن كَرِّ النُسّوعِ سَلائِقُه

I set my face toward it as it came roaring

Its front already whitened by the pollen of date clusters