عَجِبْتُ لحِبّي كيفَ يحتاجُ كاتِباً

وكُتّابُ ذاكَ البَدْرِ جلّتْ عن الحدِّ

I'm amazed that my love needs a writer,

While the scribes of that full moon stopped trying to describe her.

فَإِنَّ البَها خَطَّ العِذار كأسْطُرٍ

غَدَتْ مِنْ مِدادِ المِسكِ في صَفحَةِ الخدِّ

For her face wrote the lines of coquetry like verses

In the ink of musk, on the page of her cheek.

وَإِنَّ حِسابَ السّحرِ قَد صَحَّ كَسرُهُ

مِنَ الجفنِ حيثُ اللحظُ يَكتُبُ بِالهندي

And the calculation of her magic was proven right

In her eyelid, where her glances write in henna.