كُفّي شُموسَكِ فَالسِرارُ أَمانةٌ

حُمِّلتِها وَمَتى ثَمِلتِ رَمَيتَها

Enough of your suns, for secrets are a trust

I was charged with, and when fully ripe, I tossed them away

ما أُمٌّ لَيلاكِ العَتيقَةُ بَرَّةٌ

كَنَّيتِها لِلقَومِ أَو سَمَّيتِها

No chaste mother is your ancient night,

That I named it for the people or identified it

وَهِيَ القَتيلَةُ لَم تُؤذَّ بِقَتلِها

أَصَمتَكِ مِن عُرُضٍ وَما أَصمَيتِها

Yet it is the murdered one, not harmed by its murder

Your silence from virtue, though you did not silence it

وَعَلى كِرامِ الشَربِ نَمَّت بِالَّذي

يَخفونَهُ وَإِلى الكُروُمِ نَميتِها

And it was nourished on the honor of drinking what

They hide, and I made it grow to vineyards

وَكَأَنَّما هِيَ مِن ذُكاءٍ نَطفَةٌ

صَفَّقتِها وَبِلُؤلوءٍ أَطمَيتِها

As if it was from the spawning of intelligence,

I clapped for it and with pearls I adorned it

وَشَجَّجتِها حَمراءَ غَيرَ مُبَيَّنَةٍ

وَضحاً يُرى في ناصِعٍ أَدمَيتِها

And I painted it red without making it distinct

Clearly seen in radiant white I reddened it

ومُدامَةٌ في راحَتَيكِ بِذلَتِها

كَمُدامَةٍ في عارِضَيكِ حَميتِها

And constant in your palms, in its humiliation,

Like one constant on your cheeks I heated it

فَتَكَت بِشارِبِها السُلافَةُ عَنوَةً

حَتّى ثَنَت حَيَّ النُفوسِ كَمَيتِها

So she forcibly snatched the cups with her lips

Until she bent the living souls as she demolished them

حَمَلَت كُمَيتاً تَحتَ أَدهَمَ لَم يَزَل

في الأَشهَبَينِ مُقَصِراً بِكُمَيتِها

Bearing a treasure under dark sorrel that did not cease

To be deficient in the two blond ones with her treasure