الحُبُّ سُكرٌ خِمارُهُ التَلَفُ

يُحسِنُ فيهِ الذبولُ وَالدَنَفُ

Love is an intoxicant, ruin is its hangover

In it withering and misery become fine

عابوهُ اِذ لجَّ في تَصَلُّفِهِ

وَالحُسنُ ثَوبٌ طِرازُهُ الصَلَفُ

They blamed it when it persisted in extravagance

And beauty is a garment, shabbiness is its embroidery