ما أَعجَبَ مَسحَ كَفِّ ذاتِ الرَّدعِ

عَينَيَّ مِنَ البُكاءِ يَوَم الجِزعِ

How wonderful the touch of her restraining hand

Wiping my weeping eyes in time of grief

ما تمسحُ جَفني وَهيَ لي راحِمَةٌ

لكن خَضَبتَ بَنانَها مِن دمَعي

She wipes not my eyelids, though merciful to me

But with my tears her fingers she doth dye