صَبَحتُ حَيَّ بَني الجَرّارِ داهِيَةً

ما أَن لِتَغلِبَ بَعدَ اليَومَ جَرّارُ

I woke up alive, O Jarir, with a piercing wit,

No jarir can overcome me anymore,

نَحوي النِهابُ وَنَحوي كُلَّ جارِيَةٍ

كَأَنَّ نِقبَتَها في الخَدِّ دينارُ

My eloquence rushes toward me, as does every maiden,

As if her dimple were a golden dinar.