مُنَعَّمَةٌ يُقَرِّبُهَا هَوَاهَا

إذَا نَزَحَتْ بِمَنْزِلِهَا البِلاَدُ

A beauty made more beautiful by her charm;

When she moves on from her abode the countries yearn.

يُعَادُ حَدِيْثُهَا فَيَزِيْدُ حُسْناً

وَقَدْ يُسْتَقْبَحُ الشَّيْءُ المُعَادُ

When her story’s told again, more lovely it becomes,

Though oft repeated tales lose grace and worth.

وَيَوْمُ تَشْهَدُ الأَيَّامُ حُسْناً

وَطِيْباً أَنَّهُ فِيْهِنَّ فَرْدُ

That day the days did witness beauty bright,

And sweets—that she amidst them peerless shone.

وَرَاحَ يَقْدَحَ النِّيْرَانَ مِنْهَا

مُعَاقِرُهَا إذَا لَمْ يُورَ زَنْدُ

He kindled flames of passion for her sake,

Her wine his solace when no dice were cast.

وَيَعْلُوْهَا إِذَا مُزِجَتْ حَبَابُ

كَمَا نُصِبَتْ خِلاَلَ الشَّرْبِ نَرْدُ

It lifts her up when mixed the wine she pours

As pearls were strung between the drinking horns.

بِكَفِّ رَشاً لَهُ شِبْهَانِ مِنْهَا

شِفَاؤُكَ فِيْهِمَا رِيْقٌ وَخَدُّ

In hand a cup, from which two likenesses

Of her are medicine of salve and cheek.

وَمُسْمِعَةٍ إِذَا غَنَّتْكَ صَوْتاً

فَمَا لَكَ مِنْ فِرَاقِ الحِلْمِ بُدُّ

And when a singing girl enchants your ear,

What need for you to leave good sense behind?

كَأَنَّ يَسَارَهَا في الْعُودِ بَرْقٌ

وَيُمْناهَا إِذَا ضَرَبَتْهُ رَعْدُ

Her left hand on the lute shoots rays of light;

Her right hand thundering when the strings are struck.

تُرِيْكَ الشَّمْسَ قَرَّطَتِ الثَّرَيَّا

وَنِيْطَ بِهَا مِنْ الْجَوْزَاءِ عِقْدُ

She shows you a pleiad robed in gown of gold,

Begirt with reddish brown unhewn chrysolite.

وَكُنْتُ إِذَا الْهُمُوْمُ تَعَاوَرَتْنِي

تَرُوْحُ إلَى طَارِقَةً وَتَغْدُو

When sorrow burdened me I'd steal away

To T̤āriqah at the break of day,

وَجَدْتُ شِفَاءَ هَمِيّ فِي سَمَاعٍ

وَشُرْبِ مُدَامَةٍ مَعَ مَنْ أَوَدُّ

And finding there the cure for all my griefs

In songs and wine drunk with my boon companions.