جَرى واكِفُ العَينَينِ بِالديمَةِ السَكبِ

وَراجَعَني مِن ذِكرِ ما قَد مَضى حُبّي

With tears flowing, my eyes were occupied with grief

And memories of past love returned to haunt me

وَأَبدى الهَوى ما كُنتُ أُخفي مِنَ العِدى

وَحَنَّ لِتَذكارِ الصِبا مَرَّةً قَلبي

Passion revealed what malice I used to hide

And my heart wavered, recalling the days of youth

مَتى يُرسَلُ المُشفى إِنِ الناسُ تَحَلَّوا

عُيوناً لِأَكنافِ المَدينَةِ فَالهَضبِ

When will the healer be sent? For people have become

Eyes for the outskirts of the city and the hills

أَمُت كَمَداً أَو أَضنُ حَتّى يُغيثَني

مُغيثٌ بِسَيبٍ مِن نَداهُنَّ أَو قُربِ

I will die thirsty or lean until

A helper quenches me with news or nearness of them

حَنا الحائِمُ الصادي إِلَيها وَخُلِّيَت

قُلوبٌ فَما يَقدِرنَ مِنها عَلى شُربِ

I pine, like a camel moaning for them, but

Hearts cannot attain what they crave to drink

جَعَلنَ الهَوى داءً عَلَينا وَمالُنا

إِلَيهُنَّ إِذ أَورَدنَنا الداءَ مِن ذَنبِ

Passion has become an ailment plaguing us

As they made us ill through no fault or sin

جَرى فَوقَها زَهوُ الشَبابِ وَباشَرَت

نَعيمَ اللَيالي وَالرَخاءُ مِنَ الخَصبِ

The glory of youth flowed over them as they enjoyed

The bliss of nights and prosperity from fertility

نَواعِمُ لا يَرغَبنَ في وَصلِ بَلدَمٍ

هِدانٍ وَلا يَزهَدنَ في الطَرَفِ العَذبِ

Beauties who do not yearn for the embrace of an admirer

Or disdain the sweet glance of a gentle gazelle