1. بِوَردِ خُدودِهِ روحي فداهُ

    لَقَد أَمَر العذار بِأَن يَدورا

    Around the roses of his cheeks—may my soul be his ransom—

    He has indeed commanded the cheek-down to circle.

  2. فَأَنَّى الوردُ يُنظَر مِن قَفاهُ

    وَقَد ضَربَ الجمالُ عَلَيه سورا

    How, then, can the rose be seen from behind,

    When beauty has raised a wall around it?