وَنَهرٍ مِنَ الأَنهارِ أَلقَت يَدُ الصَّبا

عَلَيهِ شَقيقاً نارُهُ تَتَضَرَّمُ

The morning breeze flung upon a river

Whose red glow makes its white water seem to bleed,

كَأَنَّ اِبيِضاضَ الماءِ تَحتَ اِحمِرارِهِ

صَفيحَةُ سَيفٍ قَد جَرى فَوقَها دَمُ

As though the stream were a flashing sword blade

With blood running down its gleaming steel.