تَمَّت وَتَمَّ الحُسنُ في وَجهِها

فَكُلُّ شَيءٍ ما خَلاها مُحال

The full moon has risen in her lovely face

She is complete, and beauty is perfected in her face,

So everything else pales in her grace

And everything, save her alone, is sheer impossibility.

لِلناسِ في الشَهرِ هِلالٌ وَلي

في وَجهِها كُلَّ صَباحٍ هِلال

The new moon comes but once a month for men

For all mankind a crescent moon appears but once a month, while I

Her face shines crescent-fresh each dawn again

Behold a crescent in her face with every morning's rise.