رَأَيتُ اِبنَةَ الضَمريِّ عَزّةَ أَصبَحَت

كَمُحتَطبٍ ما يَلقَ بِالَيلِ يَحطِبِ

I saw the daughter of fate, proud Azah, who became

Like one gathering wood who finds no wood to gather at night

وَكانَت تُمَنّينا وَتزعُمُ أَنّها

كَبَيضِ الأَنوقِ في الصَفا المُتَنَصِّبِ

She used to make us desire her and claim she was

Like the purest pearls arrayed on a high dune

رَجَعتُ بِها عَني عَشِيّةَ بِرمَةٍ

شَمَاتَةَ أَعداءٍ ضُهُودٍ وَغُيَّب

I turned my eyes from her one evening in Barma

To the gloating of enemies, absent and hidden