مَقيلُكَ تَحتَ أَظْلال العَوالي

وَبَيْتُكَ فَوْقَ صَهواتِ الجِيادِ

Your dwelling is below lofty crags

Your home atop the steeds' galloping

تَبَخترُ في قمِيصٍ مِنْ دِلاصٍ

وَتَرْفُلُ في رِداءٍ مِنْ نِجادِ

You flaunt in a silken shirt

And prance about in a cloak of fleece

كَأَنَّكَ لِلْحُروبِ رَضيعُ ثَدْيٍ

غَذتْكَ بِكُلِّ داهِيةٍ نَآدِ

As though for war you were a suckling babe

That every cunning wolf did feed