وَيلاهُ عَلى المُفهَفِ المَيّاسِ

ما أَحسَنَهُ وَهوَ بِقَلبٍ قاسِ

The willow sways on the praying land

How lovely are his movements though his heart be cruel

يَهتَزُّ كَأَنَّهُ قَضيبُ الآسِ

سَكرانُ وَلَم يَذُق حَمِيّا الكاسِ

He shakes as if he were a rod for flogging

Intoxicated though he never tasted the wine of the chalice