ما نَمَّ عَلى الصبح نَسيمُ الآسِ

إِلّا لِهَواهُ حَنَّ قَلبي الآسي

The morning breeze did not blow gently

Except that my aching heart longed for him

بالريحِ وَطَرفِها وَقَلبي مَرَضٌ

يا طائِفَةَ المِراضِ هَل مِن آسِ

By the wind and its glance, my heart is ill

O you who cure ailments, is there a remedy?