لَأَقطَعَنَّ نِياطَ الهَمِّ بِكاسِ

فَلَيسَ لِلهَمِّ مِثلُ الكاسِ مِن آسِ

I shall surely sever the lifelines of worry with a cup,

For worry has no healer comparable to the cup,

فَسَقِّنيها سُلافاً سَلسَلاً حُجِبَت

في دَنِّها حِقباً في رُكنِ ديماسِ

So pour me the pure, smooth vintage that was veiled

Inside its cask for ages, in the corner of a dark vault,

صَفراءُ تَضحَكُ عِندَ المَزجِ مِن شَغَبٍ

كَأَنَّ أَعيُنَها أَنصافُ أَجراسِ

A golden wine that laughs with mischief when mixed,

As though its bubbles were the halves of ringing bells,

كَأَنَّ كاساتِنا وَاللَيلُ مُعتَكِرٌ

سُرجٌ تَوَقَّدُ في مِحرابِ شَمّاسِ

It is as if our cups, while the night is murky,

Are lamps glowing within a deacon's sanctuary,

هَذا وَذاكَ وَفِتيانٌ لَهُم أَدَبٌ

شُمُّ الأُنوفِ سَراةٌ غَيرُ أَنكاسِ

All this, and with me are youths possessed of refinement,

Haughty of nose, noble lords, and never base,

نازَعتُهُم قَهوَةً صَفراءَ صافِيَةً

بِشادِنٍ خَنِثٍ كَالغُصنِ مَيّاسِ

I exchanged with them a clear, golden wine,

Served by a delicate fawn, swaying like a willow branch,

مُخَنَّثِ اللَفظِ يَسبيني بِمُقلَتِهِ

مُقَرطَقٍ قُرَشِيُّ الوَجهِ عَبّاسي

Languid in speech, he captivates me with his glance,

Clad in a tunic, Qurayshi of face, Abbasid of line,

كَأَنَّ إِكليلَهُ تاجُ اِبنِ مارِيَةٍ

إِذ راحَ مُعتَصِباً بِالوَردِ وَالآسِ

As if his wreath were the crown of Ibn Mariya,

When he went forth bound in roses and myrtle,

وَقَد يُغَنّيكَ مِن سُكرٍ وَمِن طَرَبٍ

وَالكَأسُ تَختالُ مِن ساقٍ إِلى حاسي

And he sings to you, out of intoxication and rapture,

While the cup parades proudly from server to sipper,

لِلَّهِ دَرُّكَ قَد عَذَّبتَني حُرَقاً

بِالقُربِ وَالبُعدِ وَالإِطماعِ وَالياسِ

By God, how you have tortured me with burning agony,

Through nearness and distance, through temptation and despair