شكوتُ ما بالقلبِ من لوعةٍ

ومن جوى يا ما أشدَّ الجوى

I complained of the burning anguish within my heart,

and of consuming passion—oh, how fierce that passion is!

فمالَ بلحظي ولمَّا رأى

وجدي ثناهُ في يديَّ الهوى

So he yielded to my glance; and when he saw

my ardor, Love bent him into my hands.

والظبي إما كَسَلَتْ عينهُ

تشبهُ الجيدَ بها فالتوى

And the gazelle—whenever its eye grows languid—

has its graceful neck mimic that languor, and so it bends.