لِلمُقتِ سَطرانِ في خَدَّيهِ مِن شَعَرٍ

عُنوانُ ما غابَ عَن عَينَيكَ في بَدَنِه

To loathing belong two lines of hair upon his cheeks,

The title page of what lies hidden from your eyes upon his body.

كَأَنَّهُ قَمَرٌ وَلّى المِحاقُ بِهِ

في لَيلَةِ التَمِّ إِذ وافى مَدى حُسنِه

As though he were a moon overtaken by the waning dark,

On the night of fullness, just as it reached the zenith of its beauty.