أَيا حامِلَ الرُمحِ الشَبيهِ بِقَدِّهِ

وَعَهدي بِهِ غُصناً حَليفَ الهَوى رَطبا

O bearer of the spear that mirrors your slender form,

I remember it as a fresh bough, companion to the breeze.

وَياضامِراً حيفاً لِأَسرى جَمالِهِ

وَيالا شاهِراً سَيفاً حَكى لَحظَةَ عَقَبا

O slender one, so cruel to the captives of your beauty,

and ah—you brandish a sword that, in turn, imitates your glance.

ضَعِ الرُمحَ وَاِغمِد ما سَلَلتَ فَرُبَّما

قَضى كُلُّ مُضني بِالجَوى وَالهَوى نَحبا

Lay down the spear; sheathe what you have drawn—for perhaps

all whom passion and love have wasted have met their doom.

وَأَنتَ لا دَرى كَم بِتيهِكَ وَحدَهُ

قَتَلتَ وَما حاوَلتَ طَعناً وَلا ضَربا

And you do not know how many, by your proud disdain alone,

you have slain without once attempting a thrust or blow.