يا قابِضَ المالِ الَّذي لَم تَزَل

عَيني إِلى بَهجَتِهِ تَطمَحُ

O hoarder of wealth, to which my eyes

Have always aspired for delight

وَمَن إِذا جَرَّحَني لَحظُهُ

غَدا بِلَحظِ خَدِّهِ يَجرَحُ

And he who wounds me with his glance

Can heal with the smile of his cheek

تَاللَهِ لا أَنفَكُّ مُستَهتِراً

فيكَ بِأَشعاري وَلا أَبرَحُ

By God, I won’t stop being playful

With my poems about you, I won’t quit

يَعذُبُ لي الإِحماضُ في قابِضٍ

حُلوٍ إِذا ما مَرَّ يُستَملَحُ

Bitterness torments me for a sweet hoarder

Who is salted when he passes by