يَا مَزْهَراً صِيغَ مِنْ جُذًُوعٍ

رَقَّتْ وَضُمَّتْ ضَمَّ الصَّوَانِ

O blossom molded from trunks

That bent and pressed with gentle squeeze

لَمْ تَنْسَ مَا أَوْدَعْتَهُ فِيهَا

مِنْ نَغَمَاتِ طَيْرِ الجَنَانِ

You have not forgotten what you entrusted in them

Of the melodies of the birds of paradise

فَاللَّحْنُ سِرٌّ بِهَا دَفِينٌ

وَهْيَ عَلَى سِرِّهَا حَوَانِ

So the tune is a profound secret within

And it is vigilant over its secret

إِنْ بَعَثَتْهَا الأَوْتَارُ رَدَّتْ

تِلْكَ الأَغَارِيدَ فِي حَنَانِ

If the strings awaken it, it returns

Those melodies in affection

لا صَوْتَ أَشْجَى مِنْ صَوْتِ عُودٍ

كَيْفَ بِهِ وَهْوَ عُودُ هَانِي

No sadder sound than that of the lute

Alas for it, it is a forlorn lute