طابَ الزَمانُ وَأَورَقَ الأَشجارُ

وَمَضى الشِتاءُ وَقَد أَتى آذارُ

The season has grown sweet, and the trees have turned to leaf,

Winter has passed, and March has arrived.

وَكَسا الرَبيعُ الأَرضَ مِن أَنوارِهِ

وَشياً تَحارُ لِحُسنِهِ الأَبصارُ

Spring has clothed the earth in its radiance,

An embroidered brocade whose beauty bewilders the sight.

فَاِنفِ الوِقارَ عَنِ المُجونِ بِقَهوَةٍ

حَمراءَ خالَطَ لَونَها إِقمارُ

So cast off dignity for revelry with a cup of wine,

A red vintage whose hue is mingled with moonlight.

فَاِستَنصِفِ الأَقدارَ مِن أَحداثِها

فَلَطالَما لَعِبَت بِكَ الأَقدارُ

Exact justice from Fate regarding its turning events,

For long has Fate made a plaything of you.

مِن كَفِّ ذي غَنَجٍ كَأَنَّ جَبينَهُ

قَمَرٌ وَسائِرُ وَجهِهِ دينارُ

From the hand of a coquette whose forehead appears

Like a moon, while his face glows like a golden dinar.

يُزهى بِعَينَي شادِنٍ وَجَبينُهُ

وَالخَصرُ فيهِ لِشِقوَتي زُنّارُ

He glories in the eyes of a young gazelle,

And the belt around his waist is the band of my torment.

يَسقيكَ كَأساً مِن عَصيرِ جُفونِهِ

وَتَدورُ أُخرى مِن يَدَيهِ عُقارُ

He serves you a cup drawn from the essence of his eyelids,

While another cup of wine circulates from his hands.

شَمطاءُ تَأبى أَن يَدوسَ أَديمَها

أَيدي الرِجالِ وَما بِها اِستِنكارُ

An aged vintage that disdains to be trampled

By the hands of men, though she holds no refusal.

كَرخِيَّةٌ كَالروحِ دَبَّ بِشَربِها

حِلمٌ يُداخِلُهُ حَياً وَوِقارُ

A wine of Karkh, subtle as the soul; there creeps with its draught

A gentleness infused with modesty and grace.

في فِتيَةٍ فَطَموا الحَيا فَلِباسُهُم

حِلمٌ وَليسَ لِجَهلِهِم آثارُ

Among youths who have weaned themselves from shame, yet their garb

Is wisdom, and of ignorance they bear no trace.