عَلى وَردِ خَدَّيهِ وَنَرجِسِ لَحظِهِ
وَحُسنِ مُحيّاهُ وَآسِ عِذارِهِ
Over the roses of his cheeks and the narcissus of his glance,
By his rose-tinted cheeks and narcissus gaze
And the beauty of his face and the myrtle of his cheek-down,
And the beauty of his smile and tenderness of his excuse
وَرُمّان نَهديهِ وَغُصن قوامِهِ
صَدحتُ فَسمّاني الهَوى بِهزارِهِ
And the pomegranates of his breasts and the bough of his stature,
And pomegranate bust and slender waist
I sang out, so Love called me its nightingale.
I was enraptured, and love has left me distraught
Sol 6.1