وَأَشلاءِ دارٍ بالحِمى تَلبَسُ البِلَى

ومنها بكفَّيْ كُلِّ نائبَةٍ شِلْوُ

The ruins of a house wrapped in oblivion’s shroud

Whose hands, in their very destruction, seem yet proud

نأَت دعدُ عنها فهيَ تَشكو كَخَصرِها

نُحولاً بنفسي ذلك النَّاحِلُ النِّضْوُ

I pass by, then it calls, bending waist in woe

That slender shape, more graceful in its overthrow

تُسائِلُني أَترابُها هَل تُحبُّها

لَها وأَبيها من مَوَدَّتي الصَّفْوُ

It asks, do you love me still? My friends all died here

For me and it, still flows your heart’s love, sincere?

أيحسَبْنَ قَلبي خالياً من غَرامِها

وأَيُّ فؤادٍ من مَودَّتها خِلوُ

Does it think my heart empty of passion for it?

What heart from its love could ever stay clear?

عَفا اللَهُ عنها فهيَ روحي وإِن جَنَتْ

عليها وَمَرْجوٌّ لِذي الهَفوَةِ العَفوُ

God pardon it, though it wronged me, it’s my soul

I hope who’s erred finds in the end grace to make all whole

أَرى عَينَها نَشوى وَبي نَشوَةُ الهَوى

فَما لِيَ أَو تَصحو نواظِرُها صَحوُ

I see her eyes intoxicated, and mine by desire drunk

How can I sober be, when her glances at me are sunk?

وَأَعلَمُ أَنَّ الجورَ مُرٌّ مذاقُهُ

وَلكنَّه منها وفي حُبِّها حُلوُ

I know injustice is bitter to taste

But from her, even that is honey, pure and chaste