نبهته سَحَراً والكأسُ فوق يدي

والعودُ مُصْطَخِبُ الأوتار يُجْليهِ

I woke him at dawn, with the cup in my hand,

And the lute murmuring low on the strings.

فرفّع الجيدَ عن كفي وقد فَتَرتْ

أطرافُه وأَنا أُدْنيهِ من فيه

He lifted his eyelids that drooped o’er his eyes,

And his listless appearance began to amend

كما ترفع غصن البانِ منتصباً

حالاً فحالاً إِذا ما رحت تثنيهِ

As I tenderly held the cup to his lips,

And bent the pliant boughs further and further.