رَوضَةٌ مِن قَرقَفٍ أَنهارُها

وَغِناءُ الوَرقِ فيها في اِرتِفاعِ

A garden of autumn leaves, rivers flowing,

The rustle of foliage ascending on high.

لا تَلُم أَغصانَها إِن رَقَصَت

فَهيَ ما بَينَ شَرابٍ وَسَماعِ

Blame not the branches if they chance to sway,

Drunk as they are on song and sky.