ما ذُقتُ طَعمَ النَوى لَو تَدري

كَأَنَّ جَنبَيَّ عَلى جَمرِ

I have not tasted the sweetness of sleep, if only you knew

It is as if my sides are on burning coals

في قَمَرٍ مُشرِقٍ نِصفُهُ

كَأَنَّهُ مَحرَقَةُ العِطرِ

In a shining moon, half of it

Is as if it were a burning perfume

فَريسَةٌ لِلبَقِّ مَنهوشَةٌ

قَد ضَعُفَت كَفّي عَنِ النَصرِ

I am easy prey for the insects, all bitten up

My hands have grown too weak to swat them away