قالَت وَعَيشِ أَخي وَذِمَةِ والدي

لِأُنَبِّهَنَّ الحَيَّ إِن لَم تَخرُجِ

She swore by my brother's life and my father's honor

That she would rouse the neighbors if I did not leave

فَخَرَجتُ خَوفَ يَمينِها فَتَبَسَّمَت

فَعَلِمتُ أَنَّ يَمينَها لَم تُحرَجِ

So I left, fearing her oath, and she smiled

Thus I knew her oath was not meant in earnest

فَتَناوَلَت رَأسي لِتَعرِفَ مَسَّهُ

بِمُخَضَّبِ الأَطرافِ غَيرِ مُشَنَّجِ

She lifted my head to see if it was marked

By the dye of henna, still fresh and unfaded

فَلَثَّمتُ فاها آخِذاً بِقُرونِها

شُربَ النَزيفِ بِبَردِ ماءِ الحَشرَجِ

Then I kissed her mouth, grasping her horns

Drinking the bleeding with the chill of hailstone water