مَرَرنا عَلى سِربِ الظّباءِ عَشيّةً

فَلَم يَعدُنا حَتّى تَقنّصنا السِّربُ

We passed some gazelles at evening

Before they spied and fled us through the glen.

وَكُنّا نَظنُّ القربُ يَشفي سَقامنا

فَلم يَكُ إِلّا كلُّ أَدوائنا القُربُ

We thought our nearness might assuage our pain;

But nearness to them only hurt again.

وَقالوا أَلَمّا تَنْهَ قلبك عَن هوىً

فَقلتُ وَهَل لي بَعدِ بَينِهِمُ قلبُ

"Does not your heart now cease its passion?" they cried.

I said "My heart? Nay, while they live, it will not."