لَقَد جُنَّ مَن يَبكي عَلى رَسمِ مَنزِلٍ

وَيَندُبُ أَطلالاً عَفَونَ بِجَروَلِ

Truly mad is he who weeps over a campsite's traces,

And laments for ruins obliterated on the stony ground.

فَإِن قيلَ ما يُبكيكَ قالَ حَمامَةٌ

تَنوحُ عَلى فَرخٍ بِأَصواتِ مُعوِلِ

If asked, "What makes you weep?" he replies, "A dove,"

"Wailing for her chick with the voice of a mourner,"

تُذَكِّرُني حَيّاً حِلالاً بِقَفرَةٍ

وَآخِيَّةٍ شُدَّت بِفِهرٍ وَجَندَلِ

"Reminding me of a tribe encamped in the wasteland,"

"And a tethering-stake secured by rock and stone."

وَلَكِنَّني أَبكي عَلى الراحِ إِنَّها

حَرامٌ عَلَينا في الكِتابِ المُنَزَّلِ

But I—I weep for the wine, solely because

It is forbidden to us in the revealed Book.

سَأَشرَبُها صِرفاً وَإِن هِيَ حُرِّمَت

فَقَد طالَما واقَعتُ غَيرَ مُحَلَّلِ

I will drink it undiluted, even if it is banned,

For long have I committed what is not lawful.