The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, 
and her kisses were warmer than spring. 
But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, 
and its kiss was a terrible thing. 
The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed, 
in a voice that was sweet as a peach, 
But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own, 
and a bite sharp and cold as a leech. 
As he lay on the ground with the darkness around, 
and the taste of his blood on his tongue, 
His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer, 
and he smiled and he laughed and he sung, 
"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done, 
the Dornishman's taken my life, 
But what does it matter, for all men must die, 
and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"

У дорнийца жена хороша и нежна, 
Поцелуй ее сладок, как мед, 
Но дорнийский клинок и остер, и жесток, 
И без промаха сталь его бьет. 
Голос милой дорнийки звенит, как ручей, 
В благовонной купальне ее, 
Но клинок ее мужа целует больней, 
И смертельно его острие. 
Он лежал на земле в наползающей мгле, 
Умирая от ран роковых, 
И промолвил он вдруг для стоящих вокруг 
В тихой горести братьев своих: 
– Братья, вышел мой срок, мой конец недалек, 
Не дожить мне до нового дня, 
Но хочу я сказать: мне не жаль умирать, 
Коль дорнийка любила меня.