لَوَت راحَتَيها حَولَ وَشيٍ وَغالَطَت

بِأَن خَضَبَت حِنّاءها بِسَوادِ

Her arms encircled a willowy form, deceiving herself

That she dyed her henna black from my dark complexion.

وَمَا لُوِيَت إِلا عَلى حَشوِ أَضلُعِي

وَلا خُضِبَت إِلا بِكَفِّ سُهادِي

Yet she leaned only on my ribs’ enclosure,

And dyed it only with my palm’s pigment.

وَإِلا فَفي وَشيِ البَنانِ تَلَفَّتوا

بَياضَ وِدادي أَو سَوادَ فُؤادي

Else the willows of Bana would have twisted

The white of my love or the black of my heart.