تَخَالُ عند الْمَزْجِ إِبْرِيقَنَا

تَخَالُ عند الْمَزْجِ إِبْرِيقَنَا

وَكَأَسَنَا مِنْ فَمِهِ تَقْرُبُ

وَكَأَسَنَا مِنْ فَمِهِ تَقْرُبُ

You imagine, at the mixing, our ewer—

Our goblets seem to kiss

with our cup drawing near its mouth—

As wine is poured at every sip;

عَيْناً مِنْ الْمَاءِ وَمِنْ دُونِهِ

عَيْناً مِنْ الْمَاءِ وَمِنْ دُونِهِ

غَزَالَةٌ قَدْ أَقْبَلَتْ تَشْرَبُ

غَزَالَةٌ قَدْ أَقْبَلَتْ تَشْرَبُ

a spring of water, and before it

With eyes of water, pure and deep,

a gazelle that has come to drink.

A thirsty doe has come to drink.