أمّا الثُرَيّا فَنَعلٌ تَحتَ أَخمَصِهِ

وَكُلُّ قافِيَةٍ قالَت لِذَلِكَ طا

The Thurayya is a slipper under his heel,

And every rhyme has said the same about that.

وَكَيفَ أَفتَرُّ عَن حَوكِ الثَناءِ عَلى

جودٍ إِذا جاءَهُ الراجي لَهُ نَشِطا

How can I refrain from praising the weaving

Of generosity, when the hopeful comes to him eager—

إِذا حَمَلتُ كِتاباً طيبُ نَشرِكُمُ

فيهِ فَما أَنا إِلّا حامِلٌ سَفَطا

If I were to carry a letter with your sweet perfume

In it, I would only be a carrier of pages.