وما روضةٌ حيّ ثرى أقحوانِها

وما روضةٌ حيّ ثرى أقحوانِها

يضاحكُها في الغيم سِنّ من الضِّحّ

يضاحكُها في الغيم سِنّ من الضِّحّ

And no garden, its daisies’ soil alive,

No garden is as beautiful as one whose plants

a tooth of sunlight smiling at it amid the clouds,

Smile at the clouds, teeth glistening in the sun,

كأنّ صَبَاها للعرانين فَتّقَتْ

كأنّ صَبَاها للعرانين فَتّقَتْ

نداها بندٍّ فهي طيِّبةُ النفح

نداها بندٍّ فهي طيِّبةُ النفح

as though its east wind had blended, for the nostrils,

As though its spring were made for nymphs who tied

its dew with perfume, making its breath fragrant,

The breeze into a knot whose scent is sweet.

بأطيبَ من ريّا لماها لراشفٍ

بأطيبَ من ريّا لماها لراشفٍ

إذا انتبهتْ في الشرْقِ ناظرةُ الصبح

إذا انتبهتْ في الشرْقِ ناظرةُ الصبح

is sweeter than the scent of her dusky lips to one who sips them,

More fragrant than the wind for one awake

when the eye of dawn awakens in the east.

At dawn, who sees the sun begin to rise.