دَقَّ مَعنى الخَمرِ حَتّى

هُوَ في رَجمِ الظُنونِ

The nature of the wine became so subtle, until

It existed only in the casting of conjectures.

كُلَّما حاوَلَها النا

ظِرُ مِن طَرفِ الجُفونِ

Whenever the beholder seeks to capture it

With the glancing vision of the eyelids,

رَجَعَ الطَرفُ حَسيراً

عَن خَيالِ الزَرَجَونِ

The gaze returns, exhausted and weary,

Falling short of the mere phantom of the wine.

لَم تَقُم في الوَهمِ إِلّا

كَذَّبَت عَينَ اليَقينِ

It arises not in the imagination, except

To give the lie to the eye of certainty.

فَمَتى تُدرِكُ ما لا

يُتَحَرّى بِالعُيونِ

So how can you grasp that which cannot

Be sought out by the sight of eyes?