غَشِيَتْ حِجْرَهَا دُموعيَ حُمْراً

وَهْيَ مِنْ لوعةِ الهوى تَتَحَدّرْ

My tears stained her chamber red

As they trickled down in passionate sorrow

فَانزَوَتْ بِالشَّهيقِ خَوفاً وَظَنَّتْ

حَبَّ رُمَّانِ صَدرِها قد تَنَثَّر

She sighed in fear and thought

The pomegranates of love in her breast were scattered

قُلتُ عِندَ اختِبارِها بِيَدَيها

ثَمَراً صانَهُنَّ جَيْبٌ مُزَرَّر

When I tested her with my hands

On fruits protected in an embroidered pocket

لَم يَكُنْ ما ظَنَنتِ حَقّاً ولَكِن

صبغةَ الوَجْدِ صِبْغُ دمْعيَ أَحمَر

What you supposed was not true

But the dye of passion has colored my tears red