وَلي نَثرَةُ ما أَبصَرَت عَينُ ناظِرٍ

كَصُنعِ لَها صُنعاً وَلا سَردها سَرداً

A scattering is she of all the eyes of seers have sighted,

With never structure wrought or tales rehearsed in order vowed.

تَلاحَمَ مِنها سَردُها فَكَأَنَّما

عُيونُ الدَبا في الأَرضِ تَجرُدها جَردا

So smoothly linked the jointures of her tale, you would suppose

The very eyes of the wild beasts were pruning her as she bowed.