مَنْ كَحَّلَ المُقْلَةَ السَّوْداءَ بِالدَّعَجِ

وَخَضَّبَ الوَجْنَةَ الحَمْراءَ بالضَّرَجِ

He who kohl'd the black eyelid with languor,

And rouged the red cheek with shyness,

وَمَنْ عَلى ذَلِكَ الوَرْدِ الجَنِيِّ جَنَى

وَمَنْ بِسَيْفِ التَّجَنِّي خَاضَ في المُهَجِ

He who plucked those tender blossoms,

And waged war with the sword of glance,

كَأَنَّما قَلَمٌ أَجْراهُ كاتِبُهُ

فَخطَّ لاماً على اليَاقُوتِ بالسَّبجِ

As if a pen its writer courses,

Sketching a subtle "L" on ruby with gold;

يا عَاذِلي كُنْ عَذِيري في مَحبَّتِهِ

فَمَا عَلى العاشِق المَفْتُونِ مِنْ حَرَجِ

O you who blame me, excuse my love for him,

No blame lies on the impassioned lover;

تَبارَكَ اللَّه ما أَحْلاكَ في نَظَرِي

وَجَلَّ خَالقُ هذا المَنْظَرِ البَهِجِ

Blessed by God - how beautiful you seem to me!

Sublime the Maker of this cheerful sight,

وَإِنْ بَدا رَوْضُ خَدَّيهِ وَوَجْنَتِه

أَغْنَتْ بأَزْهارِهَا عَنْ سَائِر الفُرَجِ

When the garden of his cheek appears,

Its blossoms make all else superfluous;

بِوَجْنَتَيْكَ الَّتِي خَضَّبتُها بِدَمِي

وَأَشْرَقتَ باحْمِرارٍ مِنْ دَمِ المُهَجِ

With those two gardens that I dyed with my blood,

And you shone crimson from the blood of passion;

لا تَقْتُل الصَّبَّ بالهِجْرانِ يا أَمَلي

وَارْفُقْ بِقَلْبِ مُحبٍّ في هَواكَ شَجِي

Do not slay the love-struck with disdain, O my hope!

Have mercy on a loving heart enslaved by desire for you!