لَقَد أَنحَلَ الهِجرانُ جِسمِيَ في الهَوى

فَعَن أَعيُنِ الرّائينَ في العِشقِ ضِعتُ

The pangs of longing wasted me away,

And to the eyes of lovers I grew frail.

فَلَو أَنّ برغوثاً وُضِعتُ بِثَغرِهِ

لَما ضاقَ عَنّي ثَغره إِذ وُضِعتُ

If I, like an ant, were brought to his mouth,

It would not feel cramped, for I am frail.