سَكِرتُ مِن لَحظِهِ لا مِن مُدامَتِهِ

سَكِرتُ مِن لَحظِهِ لا مِن مُدامَتِهِ

وَمالَ بِالنَومِ عَن عَيني تَمايُلُهُ

وَمالَ بِالنَومِ عَن عَيني تَمايُلُهُ

I grew drunk on his glance, not on his wine.

I am intoxicated by his glance, not by his wine,

And his swaying drove sleep from my eye.

And his tilting sways me to slumber.

وَما السُلافُ دَهَتني بَل سَوالِفُهُ

وَما السُلافُ دَهَتني بَل سَوالِفُهُ

وَلا الشُمولُ اِزدَهَتني بَل شَمائِلُهُ

وَلا الشُمولُ اِزدَهَتني بَل شَمائِلُهُ

It was not pure wine that overwhelmed me, but the sides of his neck.

Not his drinking made me drunk, but his tales,

Nor was it wine that carried me away, but his graces.

Nor did his fullness of days inebriate me, but his graces.

أَلوى بِعَزمِيَ أَصداغٌ لُوينَ لَهُ

أَلوى بِعَزمِيَ أَصداغٌ لُوينَ لَهُ

وَغالَ صَبرِيَ ماتَحوي غَلائِلُهُ

وَغالَ صَبرِيَ ماتَحوي غَلائِلُهُ

His curled temple-locks twisted my resolve.

My temples ache from resisting him

And what his undergarments hold destroyed my patience.

And my patience is gone, overwhelmed by his misdeeds.