وَعُيُونٍ أَمْرَضْنَ جِسْمِي وَأَضْ

رَمْنَ بِقَلْبِي لَوَاعِجَ البَلْبَالِ

And eyes that made my body sick and vexed

My heart with yearning like the nightingales' complaint,

وَخُدودٍ مِثْل الرّياضِ زَوَاهٍ

مَا لأَيَّامِ حُسْنِهَا مِنْ زَوَالِ

And cheeks like gardens, blossom-filled, well-kept -

Their days of beauty have no taint

لَمْ أَكُنْ مِنْ جُنَاتِهَا عَلِمَ اللّ

هُ وَإني بِحَرِّهَا اليَوْمَ صَالِي

Of fading. I knew nothing of their bowers

Till now, when I am burned in passion's fires.