أُحِبُّ اللَيلَ إِنَّ خَيالَ سَلمى

إِذا نِمنا أَلَمَّ بِنا فَزارا

I love the night when Salma’s specter would alight

And haunt me, should I doze, with visitings of pain,

كَأَنَّ الرَكبَ إِذ طَرَقَتكَ باتوا

بِمَندِلَ أَو بِقارِعَتي قَمارا

As though the caravan, when night surprised its train,

Had camped near by my cheek, faring at morning light.