ما أحْسَنَ ما بُلْبلَ مِنْهُ الصُّدْغُ

قَدْ بَلْبَلَ عَقْلِي وَعَذُولي يلغو

How fair the nightingale's song into my heart it stings!

My sense is reft by him, my patience he unstrings.

ما بِتُّ لَدِيغاً مِنْ هَوَاهُ وَحْدِي

من عَقْرَبَهِ في كلِّ قلبٍ لَدْغُ

No rest, because of him, at all my spirit wings;

Within each heart his nearness is a wound that rings.