نبهته سَحَراً والكأسُ فوق يدي

نبهته سَحَراً والكأسُ فوق يدي

والعودُ مُصْطَخِبُ الأوتار يُجْليهِ

والعودُ مُصْطَخِبُ الأوتار يُجْليهِ

I woke him before dawn, the cup above my hand,

I woke him at dawn, with the cup in my hand,

And the lute, its strings clamoring, revealed him.

And the lute murmuring low on the strings.

فرفّع الجيدَ عن كفي وقد فَتَرتْ

فرفّع الجيدَ عن كفي وقد فَتَرتْ

أطرافُه وأَنا أُدْنيهِ من فيه

أطرافُه وأَنا أُدْنيهِ من فيه

So he raised his neck from my palm, though languor had overtaken

He lifted his eyelids that drooped o’er his eyes,

His limbs, while I brought it close to his mouth,

And his listless appearance began to amend

كما ترفع غصن البانِ منتصباً

كما ترفع غصن البانِ منتصباً

حالاً فحالاً إِذا ما رحت تثنيهِ

حالاً فحالاً إِذا ما رحت تثنيهِ

Just as a branch of the bān tree rises upright,

As I tenderly held the cup to his lips,

Time after time, whenever you set about bending it.

And bent the pliant boughs further and further.