لَيالي يَميني تَقبضُ الكاس مَرَّةً
وَأُخرى لَها قَبضٌ عَلى نهدِ كاعِبِ
Nights when my right hand clasps the cup one moment,
and the next has its grasp upon a nubile maiden’s breast—
نُهودٌ كَتفّاحِ اللجينِ كَأَنَّها
لِتدويرها قَد أُفرغَت في قَوالِبِ
breasts like apples of silver, as though,
to give them their roundness, they had been cast in molds.
Sol 5.6