Sways, with her trinkets, she, endowed with splendour
With a waist like the fold of flimsy cloth, slim
And a neck like a cup of silver, adorning it
The blaze of the ruby and the strung beads
Like the ember of tamarisk, which, after a night's slumber
The breezes of youth wafted, then it flamed.
The house, shady with poverty, lights up for us
If, at night, she tries to smile.
If she turns over, once, on the mattress
The devil of jewels intones melodiously.