هاتِ المَدامَةَ يا غُلامُ مُعَجِّلاً
فَالنَفَسُ في قَيد الهَوى مَأسورَه
Bring me the wine, O boy, and hurry!
For the soul in the fetters of love is captive.
أَوَ ما تَرى كانونَ يَنثُرُ وَردَهُ
وَكَأَنَّما الدُنيا بِهِ كافورَه
Do you not see how January sheds its roses,
As though the world were perfumed by camphor?
