بَدرُ تمٍّ أَلِفتُهُ

لَيتَني ما عَرَفتُهُ

A perfect full moon—I grew fond of him;

would that I had never known him.

مُسقِمي وَالشِفاءُ في

ريقِهِ لَو رَشَفتُهُ

He makes me ill, yet the cure lies in

his saliva, could I but sip it.

جامِعُ الحُسنِ كُلُّ قَل

بي عَلَيهِ وَقَفتُهُ

Gatherer of every beauty—all my

heart I have devoted to him.

وَلَوَ اَنّي بِكُلِّ حُس

نٍ بديعٍ وَصَفتُهُ

And even were I to describe him with every

wondrous kind of beauty,

كُنتُ بِاللَهِ مُقسِماً

أَنَّني ما نَصَفتُهُ

I would swear by God

that I had not done him justice.

لا وَوَردٍ بِوَجنَتَي

هِ بِلَحظي قَطَفتُهُ

Nay—by the roses upon his two

cheeks, which I plucked with my gaze:

عَنهُ وَجدي وَما بِهِ

عِلَّةٌ ما صَرَفتُهُ

Away from him, my ardor—and in him there is no

fault—I have never turned it.