ذَرِ اللَّومَ يا بْنَ الهاشِميَّة إِنَّني

بِغَيضٌ إِليَّ العاذِلُ المُتَخَرِّصُ

Leave off blame, O son of the Hashimite woman—for I

find hateful the faultfinder who fabricates accusations.

فَلِلْبانَةِ الغَنَّاءِ ظِلٌّ أَلفتُهُ

فَلا يَنزَوي عَنّي وَلا يَتَقَلَّصُ

For the luxuriant bāna tree has a shade I have grown accustomed to,

one that neither draws away from me nor shrinks.

وَيَنمَى هَواها ثُمَّ يَزدادُ جِدَّةً

وَكُلُّ هَوىً يا سَعدُ يَبلى وَيَنقُصُ

My love for it grows, then gains still greater freshness,

while every passion, O Sa‘d, wears away and wanes.