يا مَن حَوى الحُسنَ مَحضا

وَاِهتَزَّ كَالغُصنِ غَضّا

O you who gathered beauty, sheer and pure,

And sways like a tender, supple branch,

لَو أَسخَطَتكَ حَياتي

قَتَلتُ نَفسي لِتَرضى

If my life were to cause you displeasure,

I would kill myself that you might be pleased.