تَشتَهي قُربَكَ الرَبابُ وَتخشى

عَينَ واشٍ وَتَتَّقي أَسماعَه

The lute longs for your nearness, yet fears

The prying eye and shelters from his ears.

أَنتَ مِن قَلبِها مَحَلُّ شَرابٍ

تَشتَهي شُربَهُ وَتَخشى صُداعَه

Within his heart you dwell, a draft of wine

Whose taste allures, whose headache he must fear.