ظَبيٌ لِقَتلي سَلَّ صارِمَ لَحظِهِ

فَصرعتُ مِنهُ وَإِنّني لَقتيلُ

A gazelle with lethal glances bent on killing me

I fell by her hand though I'm not yet dead

فَبَكى فَشِمت الدّمعَ بَينَ جُفونِهِ

ماءَ الحَياةِ مِنَ السّيوفِ يَسيلُ

She wept and I felt her teardrops midst her lids

The water of life pouring from the swords