لَو يُرسِلُ الأَزلُ الظِبا

ءَ تَرودُ لَيسَ لَهُنَّ قائِد

If fate let loose the gazelles wandering,

With no guide leading their throng,

لَتَيَمَّمَتكَ تَدُلُّها

رِياكَ لِلسُّبُلِ المَوارِد

Your fragrance would still attract them,

Guiding their steps to drink at your stream.

وَإِذا الرِياحُ تَنَكَّرَت

نُكباً هَواجِرُها صَوارِد

And when the winds take on disguise,

Blowing their migrants every which way,

فَالناسُ سائِلَةٌ إِلَي

كَ فَصادِراً تُغني وَوارِد

People still come seeking from you,

As you give forth, welcoming all their needs.