وَمُعَندَمِ الوَجَناتِ تَحسِبُ أَنَّهُ

صُبِغَت بُرودُ الوَردِ في وَجَناتِهِ

The gardens, you'd think their roses

Were dyed by the wine in his cheeks.

مَثُلَ الجَمالُ بِخَدِّهِ مُتَنَبِّئاً

فَشَهِدتُ أَنَّ الخالَ مِن آياتِهِ

Beauty's symbol - his mole - speaks

So I know the mole is his sign.

نَظَرَت إِلَيهِ أُختُهُ شَمسُ الضُحى

وَأَياتُها في النُورِ دُونَ أياتِهِ

The dawn sun, his sister, looked at him,

Her signs dimmed by his light.

فَتَوَقَّدَت أَحشاؤُها مِن زَفرَةٍ

فَبَدا شُعاعُ النارِ في مِرآتِهِ

Her heart caught fire with a gasp

And the blaze shone in his mirror.