تَزايَدَ بي وَجدي بِحُسنِ شَقيقةٍ
على ساقِها المُخضَرِّ قامَت وَصبوتي
My ardor grew at the beauty of an anemone,
My longing grows with every cup my darling pours
Standing on its green stem—and so did my yearning.
Upon her verdant stem she stands, a goblet green
كَفُنجانِ ياقوتٍ بِكَفّ زُمرُّدٍ
تضمّ وَصبَّت فيهِ نقطةَ قَهوةِ
Like a ruby cup in an emerald palm,
As emerald clasped by ruby in this early morn
Which clasps it and has poured a drop of coffee into it.
She fills and in the pool a drop of coffee's seen
Sol 6.1