ترى ظَنَّني مِنْ جلدةِ الرَّقِّ عاذلي

ترى ظَنَّني مِنْ جلدةِ الرَّقِّ عاذلي

فلامَ على مَنْ تشتكي رقةَ الجلْد

فلامَ على مَنْ تشتكي رقةَ الجلْد

I wonder—did my reproacher think me made of parchment skin,

Did my harshness make you think I lack tenderness?

and so reproach me over one who complains of her skin’s delicacy?

Blame not who you complain to of being tender-skinned.

وتحمرُّ خدَّاها إذا ما نظرْتُها

وتحمرُّ خدَّاها إذا ما نظرْتُها

حياءً أبى أنْ تجرحَ الوردَ بالوردِ

حياءً أبى أنْ تجرحَ الوردَ بالوردِ

And her cheeks redden whenever I look at her,

Her cheeks grow rosy when I look upon her,

out of a bashfulness that would not let her wound roses with roses.

Modesty made her unwilling to bruise the rose with a rose.