شطَّ المزارُ ، فأينَ أنتِ ، وأينها

وَردات رُوحِكِ من ربيعِ حدائقي

The meadows have turned green, where are you, and where is she

The flowers of your soul from the springtime of my gardens

أَوما شبعتِ من البعاد غريبةٌ

أَنْ تجفُوَ الأرواحُ فيضَ رقائقي

Or have you not had your fill of being far away, estranged one

That the spirits would dry up, the tenderness of my being