وَعِندي مِن لَواحظها حديثٌ

يُخبِّر أنّ رِيقَتها مُدامُ

From her glances, I possess a narrative,

Declaring that her nectar is vintage wine;

وفي أَعطافها النَشوَى دليل

وما ذُقنا ولا زعم الهُمامُ

And in her intoxicated swaying lies the proof,

Though we have not tasted, nor did the noble chief lay claim.