وحَمَامَةٍ ناحَتْ فَنُحْتُ إِزاءَها

فَلَوِ اسْتَمَعْتَ لَقُلْتَ هَذا المأْتَمُ

And a dove lamented, so I lamented beside her;

had you listened, you would have said, “This is a mourning assembly.”

أَبْكِي وتَبْكِي غَيرَ أنِّي مُعْرِبٌ

عَمَّا أُكِنُّ مِنَ الغَرَام وتُعْجِمُ

I weep and she weeps—yet I can make plain

the passion I conceal, while she remains inarticulate.

وأرَدِّدُ الزَّفَرَاتِ أثْنَاءَ البُكَا

وَتَظَلُّ فَوْقَ أَراكِها تَتَرَنَّمُ

I repeat my deep sighs amid the weeping,

while she, atop her arak tree, keeps warbling.

فَإِذا أصَاخَ لِشَدْوِها وتَأَوُّهي

وَاعٍ يَقُولُ خَلِيَّةٌ ومُتَيَّمُ

And when a discerning listener hearkens to her song and my moaning,

he says: “One is free of passion; the other, love-enslaved.”