وَمَقتولِ سُكرٍ عاشَ لي إِذ دَعَوتُهُ

وَبادَرَ مَسروراً يَرى غَيَّهُ رُشدا

The slain drunkard lived when I called him,

And came to me joyfully though lost in his passion,

وَقامَ بِكَفَّيهِ بَقايا خُمارِهِ

وَعَيناهُ مِن خَدَّيهِ قَد جَفَتا قَدّا

And rose supporting himself on his hands, the ruins of his potion,

While his eyes on his cheeks had long been dry.