يا تاركاً راحاً تُسَلّي هَمّهُ
هلّا اتّقَيْتَ السّمَّ بالدُّرياقِ
O you who forsake a wine that dispels your sorrow,
why not ward off poison with theriac,
وتناولتْ يُمْناكَ ناراً لم تَخَفْ
في لمسها لَذعاً مِنَ الإحراقِ
and let your right hand take up a fire, unafraid
of any searing sting when touching it—
حمراءَ تشربُ بالأنوف سُلافها
لُطْفاً وبالأسْماع والأحداقِ
a crimson wine whose pure essence you drink through the nostrils,
so subtly—and through the ears and eyes as well—
بزُجاجةٍ صُوَرُ الفوارسِ نَقْشُها
فترى لها حَرْباً بكفِّ السّاقي
from a glass engraved with figures of mounted warriors,
so that in the cupbearer’s palm you see a battle within it;
وكأنّما سَفَكَتْ صوارمها دماً
لَبِسَتْ به غَرَقاً إلى الأعناقِ
as though its keen swords had spilled blood,
which its figures donned, immersed up to their necks;
وكَأَنَّ للكاساتِ حُمْرَ غلائلٍ
أزرارها دُرَرٌ على الأطواقِ
as though the goblets had crimson under-robes,
their buttons pearls upon their collars.
Sol 5.6