حَمَلتْ بِراحتِها شَبيهةَ خدّها

تُفّاحَةً لَبِسَت حُلَى الصّهْبَاء

In her palm like her rosy cheek

She held an apple dressed in saffron robes

ورَمَتْ إلى جِهَتي بها بَلْ أوْمَأت

وجلت يَداً مَخْضوبَة بِدمائي

And tossed it my way, no rather beckoned

Shrinking back a hand bloodied by my wounds

فَقَنِعْتُ مِنها بالزّهيدِ تعلُّلاً

والحُبُّ يُقْنَع فِيه بِالإيماء

So with meager gestures I feigned contentment

Though in love one finds gestures sufficient