يا نَظرَةً بِشَرخٍ شَبابي

وَقَضى عَلَيَّ نَعيمُها بِعَذابِ

O glance, in the very bloom of my youth,

whose bliss condemned me to torment!

ما كُنتُ أَحسَبُ نَظرَةً مِن نَضرَةٍ

تَقضي عَلى مشتاقِها بِعقابِ

I never thought a glance from one so radiant

could condemn the one who yearns for her to punishment.

يا شادِناً عَيناهُ تَفعَلُ بِالنُهى

ما تَفعَلُ الصَهباءُ بِالأَلبابِ

O young gazelle, your eyes do to reason

what tawny wine does to minds.

لَو ذُقتَ ما ذُوِّقتُ مِن أَلمِ الهَوى

لَعَلمتَ قَدرَ الشَوقِ لِلأَحباب

Had you tasted the pain of passion I was made to taste,

you would know the measure of longing for those beloved.

إِنّي لَأَعجَبُ مِن عِتابِ عَواذِلي

جَهلاً عَليكَ وَما يُفيدُ عِتابي

Indeed, I marvel at my censurers’ reproach,

born of ignorance of you—what good can reproaching me do?

قَلبي يَرى أَن لا سُلُوَّ مِن الهَوى

رَضي الَّذي يَلقى مِن الأَوصابِ

My heart believes that what I was made to taste of passion

would leave content even one who encounters afflictions.

يا عاذِلي ماذا تضرُّكَ شقوتي

القَلبُ قَلبي وَالعَذابُ عَذابي

O you who blame me, how can my lament harm you?

The heart is my heart, and the torment my torment.