تُحاذِرُ أَن أَسُبَّكَ يا ابنَ سَلمى

كَأَنَّ أَباكَ في حَسَبٍ كَريمِ

You fear I insult you, son of Salma

As if your father was of noble lineage

وَبِالشَّهباءِ مِن حَزنِ ابنِ عَمروٍ

بُيوت ما رُفِعنَ عَلى لَئيمِ

Yet with the Pleiades’ arrowheads of Ibn ‘Amr’s grief

Are homes not built with base men’s hands

إِذا ما شِئتَ هَبَّ إِلَيَّ مِنها

مُذرَّبَةُ الأَسِنَّةِ كَالنُّجومِ

If you desire, send me one of these

Whose tongues are sharpened like the stars