وَأَنتِ كمَثلُوجِ صَفا فِى قَرارةٍ

عَلَى مَتنِ صَفوانٍ بِمَجرَى المَهالِكِ

You are like pure snow in a quiet place

On the back of docile camels in the valley of death

يُشابُ بِما تَجنِى النِّحالُ وَتَأتَرِى

بِأَوعَرَ مِن عَروانَ صَعبِ المَسَالِكِ

Stained by what bees collect and afflicted

By terrain rougher than the climb up steep paths