وَقَهوَةٍ كَالعَقيقِ صافِيَةٍ

يَطيرُ مِن كَأسِها لَها شَرَرُ

And wine, pure and clear as agate,

From whose cup sparks seem to fly,

زَوَّجتُها الماءَ كَي تَذِلَّ لَهُ

فَاِمتَعَضَت حينَ مَسَّها الذَكَرُ

I wed her to water so she might submit to him,

But she recoiled in anger when the male touched her,

كَذَلِكَ البِكرُ عِندَ خَلوَتِها

يَظهَرُ مِنها الحَياءُ وَالخَفَرُ

Just like the virgin in her seclusion,

From whom shyness and bashfulness appear.