يَقولونَ لَمّا نَمَّ آسُ عِذارِهِ

سَلا كُلُّ قَلبٍ كانَ مِنهُ سَقيما

They say, when passion's folly died away,

Each heart that felt the bliss had woeful price to pay.

لَقَد كُنتُ أَهوى وَرَدَ خَدَّيهِ زائِراً

فَكَيفَ إِذا ما الأَمرُ جاءَ مُقيما

The cheeks I loved to kiss, these roamed I over free;

What if in fixed abode such transient love should be!