وَهل يرسِمَنَّ النِّضو بي غُلَّزٍ

وَنُغضَةَ وَهناً وَالعيونُ رُقُودُ

Can its perfume ever be denied me,

Though weakness and ill-health are my lot?

عَلَى مَتنِ عادِيٍّ كأَنَّ الصُّوى بِه

رِجَالٌ يؤدّون الصَّلاةَ قُعُودُ

Swooning upon my camel's litter

As if devoted monks in worship sit.

فَلو أَنَّ نَفسي طاوَعَتنِي لأَصبَحت

لَها حَفَدٌ مِمَّا يُعَدّ كَثيرُ

Had but my soul obeyed me, ere the morning,

For her I would have paid a generous price.