هَل يَجتلي لَحظي رياضَ نقوشِ

قَد فُوّفَت بِأناملِ البكّوشِ

Will my moment shine with gardens of engraved patterns

Arranged by fingers of the archer?

وَتزفُّ في طرسٍ إليّ فَأَجتَني

قَطفَ المُنى مِن روضِها المعروشِ

And rush to me in a bouquet, so I may pluck

The sweetest fruits from its well-tended grove?

وَأعلُّ حرَّ جَوانِحي بنَسيمها

وبِزَهرِها وبطلِّه المرشوشِ

And fan the heat of my wings with its breeze,

With its flowers and scattered showers?

وَتقيلُ آمالي الّتي قَد أهجَرَت

في ظلّها ذي السندسِ المفروشِ

And settle my hopes which had abandoned me

In its shade on the embroidered carpet?

وَأَرى جَداوِلها سيوفاً جرّدت

لِقتال محلي من غمودِ رقوشِ

And see its streams bare swords

To battle my home of sleepy tent pegs?

تُجلى بها بيضُ المعاني خرّداً

مِن خلفِ سودِ ولائدِ الأحبوشِ

Clarifying with it the whites of meanings shredded

Behind the blacks of resting camel litters?

وَيُرى بها ملكُ البلاغةِ سامياً

في سودِ راياتٍ وبيض جيوشِ

And see in it the king of eloquence towering

In blacks of flags and whites of armies?