هاتِ المدامَةَ يا غُلامُ مصيِّراً

نُقلي عَلَيها قُبلَةً أَو عَضَّه

Bring me the wine, O boy, passing round,

That I may kiss it or give it a bite,

أَو ما تَرى كانَ يَنثُر وَردَهُ

وَكَأَنَّما الدُنيا سَبيكَةُ فِضَّه

Or do with it what its own rose has done,

Scattering itself as rich clusters of light.