مَرَّت بِحارِسِ بُستانٍ فَقالَ لَها

وَقَد بَدى بارِزُ النَهدَينِ لِلنَظَرِ

She passed by a garden's guard, so he said to her

As her protruding breasts became visible to the sight

ماذا الَّذي قَد أَرى روحي فِدائَكَ هَل

سَرَقتَ رُمّانَتي نَهدَيكِ مِن شَجري

What is it that I see, my soul your ransom, have

You stolen my pomegranates, your breasts, from my trees?

تَبَسَّمَت ثُمَّ قالَت وَهيَ مُعرِضَةٌ

تَثني أَقواماً كَغُصنٍ يانِعٍ نَضِرِ

She smiled, then turning away said

Bending people like a delicate, tender branch

أُمَثِّلُ هاتَينِ هَذا الرَوضُ يُثمِرُهُ

لا تَدَّعي الزَورَ كِلا بَل هُما ثَمَري

I represent these two, this garden bears them

Do not falsely claim, no, but they are my fruit.