مَا زَالَ حَرُّ الشَّوْقِ يَغْلِبُ صَبْرَهَا

حَتَّى تَحَدَّرَ دَمْعُهَا الْمُتَعَلِّقُ

The burning heat of her longing still defeats her patience,

Until her dangling tear descended.

وَجَرَى مِنَ الكُحْلِ السَّحِيْقِ بِخَدِّهَا

خَطٌّ تُؤَثِّرُهُ الدُّمُوعُ السُّبَّقُ

And from her thick kohl a line ran down her cheek,

A line the pouring tears etch.

فَكَأَنَّ مَجْرَى الدَّمْعِ حِلْيَةُ فِضَّةٍ

فِي بَعْضِهِ ذَهَبٌ وبَعَضٌ مُحَرَقُ

So the tear's path seems like a silver ornament,

With some gold and some melted metal.