بِأَبي اليَومَ وَنَفسِي بَلَسٌ

كَثُدِيِّ الزَّنجِ دَرّت عَسَلا

By my father today, and myself in bliss,

Like the honeycomb of a black Zanji dripping honey,

عَبثَت فِي بُردِهِ كَفُّ الصبِّا

فَتَرَدّى مِن جَديدٍ سَبَلاَ

The hand of passion toyed in its coldness,

And so it shed freshly dripping streams.

سَهرَ اللّيلَة يَرعَى نَجمهَا

ثُمَّ أَغفىَ فِي الصَّبَاحِ كَسَلاَ

She stayed up last night, tending her star,

Then slept in the morning, curled up.

لَيتَ شِعري مَن سَقاهُ خَمرَةً

شَفقَ الصبُّح فَأَضحَى ثَمِلاَ

I wish I knew who gave her the wine

That tinged the dawn and left her drunk.

مَائِلَ الجِيدِ عَلَتهُ نَعسَةٌ

سَائِلَ الرِّيقَةِ مَهمَا غَفَلاَ

Drowsiness weighs down her bending neck,

And she smiles, heedless, if she nods off.

كُلّ يَومٍ لِي عَلَيهِ غارَةق

غَرَّة الصبُّحِ وَأُخرَى أُصُلاَ

Each day I raid her, each dawn and night,

But with both I cannot slake my thirst.

لَستُ أَروَى مِن أُوَامِي بِهِمَا

إِنّما الرّيّ شَرَابر عَلَلا

For lust is a draught that leaves one diseased,

Not sated, however much one drinks.