سَقَتني سُلافاً مِن مُدامَةِ ثَغرِها

عَلى وَردِ خَدَّيها وَنَرجِسِ طرفِها

She gave me a draught from the wine of her mouth

Upon the rose of her cheek and the narcissus of her glance,

وَقَد سامَرتني اللَّيلَ تَرشفني طُلى

حَديثٍ فَما لَذّ المدامُ بِصَرفِها

And the night has conversed with me, sprinkling me with the stars

Of a conversation, so the wine was no match for her turning away,

وَما ذُقت مِن هَذا وَلا ذا وَإِنّما

تخيلهُ الأَفكارُ في حُسنِ وَصفِها

And I have not tasted this or that, rather

It is imagined by thoughts in the beauty of her description.