أفْدِيهِ غُصْنًا مَا بَدَا وَجْهُهُ

إلاَ رَأيْتُ الشَّمْسَ فَوْقَ القَضِيبْ

I offer him a branch, his face not yet seen

Except I saw the sun above the rod

أرْخَى عَلَى الأرْدَافِ شَعْراً حَكَى

أسَاوِداً تَسْعَى بِأعْلَى الكَثِيبْ

He let down upon his cheeks hair that told

Of blackness, hastening to the top of the dune

تَقُولُ لِلْعُشَّاقِ ألْحَاظُهُ

لاَ تُنْكِرُوا فَتْكِي فَسَهْمِي مُصِيبْ

It says to lovers, his glances

Do not deny my deadly aim, my arrow hits its mark