نَظَرتُ إلِى حُسْنِ الرِّياضِ وغَيمُها

جَرَى دَمْعُهُ مِنهُنَّ في أَعيُنِ الزَّهْرِ

I looked at the beauty of the gardens and their clouds

His tears flowed from them into the eyes of flowers

فَلَمْ تَرَ عَيني بَينها كَشَقائِقٍ

تُبَلبِلُها الأَرواحُ في القَضَبِ الخَضرِ

My eyes did not see corn poppies among them

Swayed by the breeze in the green reeds

كَما مَشَطَتْ غِيدُ القِيانِ شُعورَها

وَقامَتْ لِرَقصٍ في غَلائِلِها الحُمْرِ

As the rain combed its hair

And rose to dance in its red braids