أُدْنُ مِنَ الدَّنِّ بِي فِدَاكَ أَبِي

وَاشْرَبْ وَهَاتِ الكَبِيْرَ وانْتَخِبِ

Draw me near to the wine jar—may my father be your ransom.

Drink; bring the great cup, and choose the finest.

أَمَا تَرَى الطَّلَّ كَيْفَ يَلْمَعُ فِي

عُيُونِ نَوْرٍ يَدْعُو إِلَى الطَّرَبِ

Do you not see how the dew gleams in

the eyes of blossoms, calling us to delight?

فِي كُلِّ عَيْنٍ لِلطَّلِّ لُؤْلُؤَةً

كَدَمْعَةٍ فِي جُفُونِ مُنْتَخِبِ

In every eye, the dew has set a pearl,

like a tear in the eyelids of a chosen one.

وَالصُّبْحُ قَدْ جُرِّدَتْ صَوَارِمُهُ

وَاللَّيْلُ مِنْهَا قَدْ هَمَّ بِالْهَرَبِ

Morning’s swords have been unsheathed,

and night has resolved to flee from them.

وَالجَوُّ فِي حَلَّةٍ مُمَسَّكَةٍ

قَدْ كَتَبَتْهَا البُرُوقُ بِالذَّهَبِ

The air is robed in a musk-scented mantle

that lightning-flashes have inscribed in gold.

فَهَاتِهَا كَالْعَرُوسِ مُحْمَرَّةَ ال

خَدَّيْنِ فِي مِعْجَزٍ مِنَ الحَبَبِ

Then bring her like a bride, crimson of—

cheeks, amid a miracle of bubbles.

كَادَتْ تَكُنُ الهَوَاءَ فِي أَرَجِ ال

عَنْبَرِ لَوْ لَمْ تَكُنْ مِنَ العِنَبِ

She would almost be air itself, in the fragrance of—

ambergris, had she not been made from grapes:

فِيؤ كَفِّ رَاضٍ عَنِ الصُّدُودِ وَقَدْ

غَضِبْتُ فِي حُبِّهِ عَلَى الغَضَبِ

in the hand of one content with aloofness, while I have

grown angry, for love of him, at anger itself.

فَلَوْ تَرضى الكَأسَ حِيْنَ يَمْزُجُهَا

رَأَيْتَ شَيْئَاً مِنْ أَعْجَبِ العَجَبِ

If only the cup would consent when he mixes her,

you would behold a thing among the greatest of wonders:

نَارٌ حَوَتْهَا الزُّجَاجُ يُلْهِبُهَا ال

مَاءُ وَدُرٌّ بِغَيْرِ مَا ثُقَبِ

fire enclosed by glass, set ablaze by—

water—and pearls that have never been pierced.