وَساجِيةَ الأَلْحاظِ تَفْتُرُ إِنْ رَنَتْ

فَتَحْسَبُها مَمْلوءَةً مِنْ رُقادِها

The glances of her languid eyes grow cold when she's cross,

So you'd think them brimful of sleepiness.

أُعَلّلُ نَفْسي بِالمُنى وَيَشوقُني

سَنا البَرْقِ يَسْري مَوْهِناً مِنْ بِلادِها

I make excuses, though I yearn for her embraces;

Her cheek's soft lightning roams gently from her land.

وَما لِيَ مِنْها غَيْرُ داءٍ مُخامِرٍ

يُبَرِّح بي في قُرْبِها وَبِعادِها

She gives me nothing but a lingering sickness

That keeps me near, or draws me from, her side.

وَأَرْعَى نُجومَ اللَّيْلِ وَالعَيْنُ ثَرَّةٌ

تُرَاقِبُها مَطْروفَةً بِسُهادِها

I tend the stars in night's darkness, while my eyes

Keep watch o'er them, wrapped in their own lids.

فَلَيْتَ بَياضَ الصُّبْحِ يَبْدو لِمُقْلَةٍ

كَأَنَّ الدُّجَى مَخْلُوقَةٌ مِنْ سَوادِها

Would that the whiteness of the dawn might appear to my weeping eyes

As if the gloom were created from her blackness.