وأَشقرٍ ما زِلْتُ من جَرْيِه

أَطْوِي به البيدَ كطيِّ الكِتَابْ

Blond-haired, I have not ceased to flow with him,

I fold with him the expanse like folding a book.

كأَنَّما أَرجلُه في الفَلا

أَنامِلٌ تُسرِع لَقْط الحِسَابْ

As if his feet in the meadow

Were fingers hastening the counting of fortune.

يَجْرِي فلاَ أَعْلَمُ عُجْباً بِه

أَمارِدٌ أُبصرُه أَمْ شِهَابْ

He flows on, and I do not know what to make of him-

A fiery jinn I espy him or a shooting star?

كم غصَّةٍ للبرقِ من أَجْلِه

فليت شِعْرِي كَيفَ حالُ السحابْ

How many handfuls has lightning snatched because of him!

I wonder, what is the condition of the clouds?

آثارُه عِقْدُ نُهودِ الرُّبَا

ونَقْعُهُ طُحْلبُ بحْر السَّرابْ

His traces are a necklace of soft white pearls,

His striking the meadows, the phosphorescence of the mirage's sea.