أَيَجني عَلى مُهجَتي طَرفُهُ

وَيُخضَبُ مِن دَمِها كَفُّهُ

His glance wounds my passion,

And his hand is dyed with its blood.

وَتَلدَغُني تارَةً حَيَّةٌ

هُناكَ يُساوِرُها رِدفُهُ

At times a serpent bites me;

There, its tail entwines it.

وَيَرشُفُ دوني لِثامٌ لَهُ

نَدى أُقحُوانٍ حَلا رَشفُهُ

Below me a veil drinks

The dew of primroses is its drink.

فَسائِل بِرامَةَ عَن ريمِها

وَهَل ضَلَّ عَن سِربِها خِشفُهُ

I asked Barema about her gazelle,

And if its fawn strayed from the herd.

وَهَل خاضَ جَرعاءَ وادي الغَضا

يُلاعِبُ أَفنانَها عِطفُهُ

And if it traversed the valley of Ghadha

Sporting with its doe mates.

فَأَعدى أَراكَتَها هَزَّةً

وَأَرَّجَ أَنفاسَها عَرفُهُ

So it startled them with its skip

And stirred their breaths with its musk.

أَما وَهَوى مِثلِهِ جُؤذُراً

يُطابِقُ مَوصوفَهُ وَصفُهُ

Or did it, like itself, yearn

For one whose description matched it?

لَهُ نَظَرٌ فاتِنٌ فاتِرٌ

يَحُلُّ قُوى عَزمَتي ضُعفُهُ

It has a languid, charming glance

Whose weakness dissolves my will.

لَئِن هَزَّ أَعطافَنا حُسنُهُ

لَقَد بَزَّ أَنفُسَنا ظَرفُهُ

If its beauty stirred our love,

Its grace outshone our souls.

وَأَقبَلَ بِالحُسنِ إِدبارُهُ

يُلاعِبُ خوطَتَهُ حِقفُهُ

With beauty its rear approaches,

Sporting with its tufted tail.

وَحَفَّت بِهِ الخَيلُ خَيّالَةً

فَطارَ بِهِ سُرعَةً طِرفُهُ

The steeds gathered around it fantasy-like,

So its flight was swift.

وَهَشَّ إِلى رَكضِهِ ظَهرُهُ

وَحَنَّ إِلى كَفِّهِ عُرفُهُ

Its back inclined to the gallop

And its mane inclined to its palm.

وَأَقوَمَ مِن رُمحِهِ قَدُّهُ

وَأَفتَكَ مِن نَصلِهِ طَرفُهُ

Its stature straighter than its spear,

And its blade sharper than its point.

وَكُلٌّ هُناكَ صَريعٌ بِهِ

يَرى أَنَّ عَيشَتَهُ حَتفُهُ

There, each prostrate sees

That its existence ends in death.

أَلا شَفَّ صَدرِيَ عَن سِرِّهِ

كَما شَفَّ عَن وَجهِهِ سَجفُهُ

If only its secret cured my heart,

As its forelock cured its brow!

وَخَفَّ بِقَلبِيَ فيهِ الهَوى

وَلاعَبَ قُرطانَهُ شِنفُهُ

And if its love calmed my heart,

Sporting with its ear tips!

فَهَل مِن سَبيلٍ إِلى زَورَةٍ

يَمُنُّ بِها لَيلَةً عِطفُهُ

Is there a way on a night visit

Its love would compassionately turn?

فَيَلوي مِن غُصنِهِ هَصرُهُ

وَيُمكِنُ مِن وَردِهِ قَطفُهُ

That it may bend its branch,

And allow the plucking of its rose?

وَقَد كُنتُ أَزري عَلى عِفَّةٍ

وَيُعجِبُني أَنَّني عِفُّهُ

I had been chaste in modesty,

Pleased that I was its chastity.