وَمُستَطيلٍ عَلى الصَهباءِ باكِرَها

وَمُستَطيلٍ عَلى الصَهباءِ باكِرَها

بِفِتيَةٍ بِاصطِباحِ الراحِ حُذّاقِ

بِفِتيَةٍ بِاصطِباحِ الراحِ حُذّاقِ

And one who boasted mastery over tawny wine sought it at dawn,

A rectangle on the gray sands at dawn

And one who pressed upon the reddish wine at break of day,

With youths adept at drinking wine in the morning.

With youths skilled at pouring the morning draught

With youths who in the morning draught great skill and art display,

فَكُلُّ كَفٍّ رَآها ظَنَّها قَدَحاً

فَكُلُّ كَفٍّ رَآها ظَنَّها قَدَحاً

وَكُلُّ شَخصٍ رَآهُ ظَنَّهُ الساقي

وَكُلُّ شَخصٍ رَآهُ ظَنَّهُ الساقي

So every hand he saw he took for a goblet,

Each palm that saw it thought it was a cup

Saw every hand that gestured near as holding out a cup,

And every person he saw he took for the cupbearer,

Each person who saw them thought them the pourer

And every form that crossed his path as him who fills it up.

حَتّى حَساها فَلَم يَلبَث وَما لَبَثَت

حَتّى حَساها فَلَم يَلبَث وَما لَبَثَت

أَن خَرَّ مَيتاً صَريعاً ما لَهُ راقِ

أَن خَرَّ مَيتاً صَريعاً ما لَهُ راقِ

Until he sipped it; he did not linger, nor did the wine,

Until they sensed it, and no sooner sensed

He gulped it down; he did not pause, nor did the potion wait,

Before he fell dead, struck down, with no healer for him.

Than dead he fell, a corpse with no awakening

To strike him dead upon the floor, beyond a healer's fate.