يا مَن يُغنيهِ شِعري

كَالنورِ في قُربِ شَمسِ

O you whom my poetry delights

Like light in the sun's proximity,

وَمَن يَغارُ فُؤادي

مِنهُ عَلى حُبِّ نَفسي

And you for whom my heart is jealous

Of its self-love,

ضَلَّ الَّذي قالَ يَوماً

إِنَّ العِبادَ يُقَسّي

Lost is he who once said

Servants are made harsh,

صَحيحُ هَجرِكَ يُضني

وَذِكرُ حُبِّكَ يُنسي

True, your abandonment grieves me

And your love's memory gives forgetfulness.