له قباءٌ خلْتُ تطريزَهُ

له قباءٌ خلْتُ تطريزَهُ

لحسنِه تطريزَ خدِّيهِ

لحسنِه تطريزَ خدِّيهِ

He has a robe whose embroidery I imagined,

He has a cloak whose embroidery I weave

for its beauty, to be the embroidery of his cheeks.

With ornament like the cheeks of a gazelle

ملتفتٌ نحوي كظبي النقا

ملتفتٌ نحوي كظبي النقا

لا ما لظبيٍ غنجُ عينيهِ

لا ما لظبيٍ غنجُ عينيهِ

He turns toward me like a gazelle of the sand dune—

Turning to me like the wild deer

No, no gazelle has the coy charm of his eyes.

Yet no deer has eyes so bright