باتَ الخَيالُ مِن الصُلَيتِ مُؤَرِّقي
يَفري السَراةَ مَع الرَبابَ المُلثِقِ
The phantom from al-Ṣulayt kept me wakeful all night,
cleaving through the Sarāt heights amid rain-laden clouds.
ما راعَني إِلّا بَياضُ وُجُيهِهِ
تَحتَ الدُجُنَّةِ كَالسِراجِ المُشرِقِ
Nothing startled me save the whiteness of its delicate little face,
there in the deep darkness, like a radiant lamp.
Sol 5.6