قُل لِمِراضِ الحَدَقِ

وَطُرَرٍ مِن حَلَقِ

Say to the sicknesses of my eyes

And the thrushes in my throat—

هَل في فُؤادي لِلهَوى

أَو جَسَدي شَيءٌ بَقي

Is there in my heart any love left

Or in my body anything remaining?

إِن لَم تُرَوُّوا عَطَشي

بُخلاً فَبُلّوا رَمَقي

If you will not quench my thirst out of miserliness

Then wet my dried-up existence.

يا مُقلَةً أَجفانُهَ

مَفتوقَةٌ بِالأَرَقِ

O eyes whose lids

Are split open from wakefulness!

بَقيتِ في رِقِّ الهَوى

شَقيَّةً فيمَن شَقي

You have remained, in passionate love,

A wretch among the wretched.