ومُدامَةٍand wine فيin الكاسِthe cup تَحْسَبُyou think أنَّهَاthat it is
ومُدامَةٍ في الكاسِ تَحْسَبُ أنَّهَا
وَرْدٌa rose جَنَتْهُplucked it رَاحَةthe palm الأكْمَامِthe calyxes
وَرْدٌ جَنَتْهُ رَاحَة الأكْمَامِ
And wine in the cup—you would think it was
A goblet of wine she mistakes for a rose
a rose plucked by the palm of the calyxes.
Plucked from the wrist where the perfume blows
صَاغَfashioned المِزَاجُthe mixing لهاfor it حَبَاباًbubbles فاغْتَدَتْso it became
صَاغَ المِزَاجُ لها حَبَاباً فاغْتَدَتْ
شَرَكَa snare العُقُولِthe minds وحَيْرَةَand bewilderment الأفْهامِthe intellects
شَرَكَ العُقُولِ وحَيْرَةَ الأفْهامِ
The mixing fashioned bubbles for it, so it became
Mixed by the senses till flushed with pride
a snare for minds and the bewilderment of intellects.
She scorns all reason, bewitched by its tide
Sol 6.1