ب َنَتْ صُورُ لِنَفْسَها قَلعَةً. كَوَّمَتِ الفِضَّةَ كَالتُّرابِ، وَالذَّهَبَ كَطِينِ الشَّوارِعِ.
And Tyre has built herself a stronghold, and heaped up silver like dust and fine gold like the mire of the streets.