أَحَبُّ اِمرِئٍ حَبَّتِ الأَنفُسُ

وَأَطيَبُ ما شَمَّهُ مَعطِسُ

I love a man whose love fills souls

The most beloved of men whom souls hold dear,

And most fragrant is what he smells

The sweetest fragrance a breath has ever drawn,

وَنَشرٌ مِنَ النَدِّ لَكِنَّما

مَجامِرُهُ الآسُ وَالنَرجِسُ

A blossom of pleasure but games

A diffusion of rare incense, though in truth,

Are his hobby, and flower petals

Its burning censers are the myrtle and narcissus.

وَلَسنا نَرى لَهَباً هاجَهُ

فَهَل هاجَهُ عِزُّكَ الأَقعَسُ

Do we not see flames that burn him

We see no flame that stirred it into scent;

Did your glory burn him, most wretched

Was it then kindled by your unyielding glory?

وَإِنَّ الفِئامَ الَّتي حَولَهُ

لَتَحسُدُ أَرجُلَها الأَرؤسُ

And those demons surrounding him

And verily, the crowds that stand around him—

Their heads envy his feet

Their very heads bear envy toward their feet.