هَتَفَ الصُّبْحُ بِالدُّجَى فَاسْقِنِيْهَا

هَتَفَ الصُّبْحُ بِالدُّجَى فَاسْقِنِيْهَا

قَهْوَةً تَتْرُكُ الحَلِيْمَ سَفِيْهَا

قَهْوَةً تَتْرُكُ الحَلِيْمَ سَفِيْهَا

Dawn cried out to the darkness—so pour it for me:

Morning called out to the dew, so bring it to me

Wine that turns the prudent man into a fool.

A coffee that leaves the forbearing as foolish

لَسْتُ تَدْرِي لِرِقَّةٍ وَصَفَاءٍ

لَسْتُ تَدْرِي لِرِقَّةٍ وَصَفَاءٍ

هِيَ فِي كَأسِهَا أَمِ الكَأٍسُ فِيْهَا

هِيَ فِي كَأسِهَا أَمِ الكَأٍسُ فِيْهَا

You cannot tell, so delicate and clear it is,

You know not if it is the delicacy and purity

Whether it is in its cup or the cup is in it.

In her cup, or if the cup is within her