بِأبِي آسُ عِذارٍ وقَفَا

فِي شَقِيقِ الخَدْ

By the honor of morning's delights, stop

On the cheek's radiant light

لامُهُ أبْدتْ لِراءٍ ألِفَا

كَيْف يُجْنَى الوردْ

Its glances have forever shone to the observant and concealed

How can the rose be plucked

وَبِوَاوِ الصُّدْغِ قَلْباً عَطَفَا

فَعَلاَمَ الصَّدْ

When in the curve of cheeks lives a tender heart?

What use is such remoteness?