ما شَرف الرَوض في نَزاهَتهِ

إِلّا وَسَتر الغَمام يَنسَحب

The meadow's honor in its purity

Is but the clouds' veil slowly drawn.

كَأَنَّهُ البَدر عِندَ رُؤيَتِهِ

لا شَكَ شمس النَهار تَحتَجب

As though the full moon at first sight

Behind daylight's sun now hidden, gone.