أَومَى إِلى خَدِّهِ بِسوسَنَةٍ

صَفراءَ صِيغَت مِن وَجنَتَي عَبدِه

He pointed to his cheek with a yellow rose

Molded from the cheeks of his beloved

لَم تَرَ عَيني مِن قَبلِهِ غُصُناً

سَوسَنُهُ نابِتٌ إِزا وَردِه

Never before have my eyes seen a branch

His rose grows next to his rose

أَعمَلتُ زَجري فَقُلتُ رُبَّتَما

قَرَّبَ خَدَّ المَشوقِ مِن خَدِّه

I tried to scold him, “Perhaps

The lover brought his cheek too close to his.”