أَفي رَدِّ كَأسِ الخَمرِ عَنّي فَلا خَمرا

عَقارِبُها دَبَّت عَلَيَّ وَلا وِزرا

In the turning aside of the wine cup from me, no wine

Nor sin; its scorpions crawled over me, but no crime.

وَبُدِّلتُ مِنهَ بَعدَ بَيضاءَ غَضَّةٍ

بِأَسوَدَ لَونٍ كالِحٍ حالِكٍ مُرّا

After it I was changed from a maiden flushed and white

To blackness of face like the gloom of night.

كَأَنَّ النَدامى حينَ كَظّوا بِشُربِهِ

مَحارِبُ وَرَّقينَ قَد مُلِأَت حِبرا

As though the abstainers, when they revolted from drinking it,

Had made war on my cheeks until filled with ink.