وَلَقَد كَلفت بشيشة ما نالَها

كِسرى وَلا ماء السَماء لَها حوى

I tasked a luthier with crafting a lute, the likes of which

Neither Chosroes possessed, nor the heavens contained.

أَعددتها لي شادِياً يَشدو عَلى

نَغم الحِجاز إِذا أَضَرَّ بِيَ النَوى

He fashioned it for me, a minstrel to sing

The melodies of Hijaz, when yearning afflicts me.

وَمِن الصَبابة أَعربت نَغماتها

ما أَضمرته بِقَلبها أَيدي الجَوى

From refined ebony he elicited notes,

That which treacherous hands concealed in their bosoms.

حَتّى إِذا سامَرتها وَتَرنّمت

كَترنّم الحادي بِمنعرج اللوى

Until, when I strummed it, and it sang,

Like a lovesick bard on the twisting road.

غَنَّت فأَطرَبت الجَليس بِصَوتِها

وَكَذاكَ مَن بِفُؤادِهِ لَعِبَ الهَوى

It sang, entrancing the companion with its voice,

And likewise, he in whose heart desire played.