إِذا شاقَكَ ناقوسٌ

وَشَجوُ النايِ وَالعودُ

If the toll of a bell stirs a yearning in you,

And the sorrowful sigh of the flute and the oud,

وَغوديتَ بِريقِ الخَم

رِ مَجَّتهُ العَناقيدُ

And you wake to the glimmering sparkle of wine,

Which the clusters of grapes have distilled and brewed,

تَطَرَّبَت إِلى الإِلفِ

فَقالوا أَنتَ عِربيدُ

And you thrill with desire for the one you adore,

Though they say: "You are merely a drunkard, and lewd,"

وَهَل عَربَدَ مَكروبٌ

قَريحُ القَلبِ مَعمودُ

Does a man act the sot when he's crippled by grief,

With a heart that is wounded, by sickness subdued?