يا ثَوبَهُ الأَزرَق الَّذي قَد

فاتَ العراقيَّ في السناءِ

Oh bluest robe that once did grace

The one from fair Iraq's place

يَكادُ وَجهُ الَّذي يَراهُ

يُكسَى بَياضاً مِن الضياءِ

A face that beholds you nearly

Glows brightly with your glory fairly

كَأَنَّهُ فيكَ بَدرُ تِمٍّ

يَقطَعُ في زرقَةِ السماءِ

As though within you lies a full moon bright

Crossing the blue sky’s night