حَتّامَ يَلْحَى عَلَيْكَ مَنْ خَلتِ ال
أَحْشاءُ مِنْهُ مِنْ لاعِجِ الحُزْنِ
How long will he who chides me over you—he whose
heart is free of sorrow’s searing fire?
هَبْه أَطال الملامَ فِيكَ فهلْ
يَدْخُلُ ما قالَ قطُّ في أُذْني
Suppose he prolongs his reproaches over you—has
anything he ever said entered my ear?
كَمْ جَهْدَ مَا تَفْعَلُ المَواشِطُ فِي
وَجْهٍ قَبيحٍ مِنْ آلةِ الحُسْنِ
How much labor the beauticians expend upon
an ugly face with the instruments of beauty!
Sol 5.6