بِوَردِ خُدودِهِ روحي فداهُ

لَقَد أَمَر العذار بِأَن يَدورا

With his rosy cheek my soul I'd ransom

Lo, the censors bid the tale to cease

فَأَنَّى الوردُ يُنظَر مِن قَفاهُ

وَقَد ضَربَ الجمالُ عَلَيه سورا

But where is cheek's rose to be seen from end to end

When beauty's struck a rampart round the place