أَما وَشَبابٌ قَد تَرامَت بِهِ النَوى

أَما وَشَبابٌ قَد تَرامَت بِهِ النَوى

فَأَرسَلتُ في أَعقابِهِ نَظرَةً عَبرى

فَأَرسَلتُ في أَعقابِهِ نَظرَةً عَبرى

Ah, by youth that separation has cast far away,

While youth passed by with its goals,

so I sent a tearful glance in its wake.

I looked back with a tearful gaze.

لَقَد رَكِبَت ظَهرَ السُرى بي نَومَةٌ

لَقَد رَكِبَت ظَهرَ السُرى بي نَومَةٌ

فَأَصبَحتُ في أَرضٍ وَقَد بِتُّ في أُخرى

فَأَصبَحتُ في أَرضٍ وَقَد بِتُّ في أُخرى

Indeed, a slumber carried me on the back of night travel,

Sleep rode the saddlebags of travel;

so I awoke in one land, though I had spent the night in another.

I woke up in one land though I'd slept in another.

أُقَلِّبُ جَفناً لا يَجِفُّ فَكُلَّما

أُقَلِّبُ جَفناً لا يَجِفُّ فَكُلَّما

تَأَوَّهتُ مِن شَكوى تَأَلَّمَت عَن شُكرى

تَأَوَّهتُ مِن شَكوى تَأَلَّمَت عَن شُكرى

I turn an eyelid that never dries; whenever

I roll an eyelid that does not dry, so whenever

I sigh in complaint, even my gratitude brings me pain.

I sigh in complaint, I stop being thankful.

فَها أَنا لا نَفسٌ يَخِفُّ بِها المُنى

فَها أَنا لا نَفسٌ يَخِفُّ بِها المُنى

فَتَلهو وَلا سَمَعٌ تَطيرُ بِهِ بُشرى

فَتَلهو وَلا سَمَعٌ تَطيرُ بِهِ بُشرى

So here I am: no soul lightened by hopes

Or hearing that can be delighted by good news.

to take delight, nor hearing sent soaring by glad tidings.

Whenever a dove's cooing troubles me

وَإِنّي إِذا ما شاقَني لِحَمامَةٍ

وَإِنّي إِذا ما شاقَني لِحَمامَةٍ

رَنينٌ وَهَزَّتني لِبارِقَةٍ ذِكرى

رَنينٌ وَهَزَّتني لِبارِقَةٍ ذِكرى

And I, whenever I am stirred to longing by a dove's

Or a flash of lightning shakes me with memories,

ringing call, and a memory of lightning shakes me,

I collect water and fire in my agony -

لَأَجمَعُ بَينَ الماءِ وَالنارِ لَوعَةً

لَأَجمَعُ بَينَ الماءِ وَالنارِ لَوعَةً

فَمِن مُقلَةٍ رَيّا وَمِن كَبِدٍ هَرّى

فَمِن مُقلَةٍ رَيّا وَمِن كَبِدٍ هَرّى

surely unite water and fire in anguish—

Tears from an aching eyelid and passion from my innermost heart.

from a brimming eye and a scorched liver.

The topic of old age has lessened on the path to doom,

وَقَد خَفَّ خَطبُ الشَيبِ في جانِبِ الرَدى

وَقَد خَفَّ خَطبُ الشَيبِ في جانِبِ الرَدى

فَصارَت بِهِ صُغرى الَّتي كانَتِ الكُبرى

فَصارَت بِهِ صُغرى الَّتي كانَتِ الكُبرى

And the affliction of gray hair has grown light beside death,

So the lesser now was once the greater.

so through it, what was the greater sorrow has become the lesser.

Whenever poetry mourns youth,

وَلِلشِعرِ عِندي كُلَّما نَدَبَ الصِبا

وَلِلشِعرِ عِندي كُلَّما نَدَبَ الصِبا

فَأَبكى مَحَلَّ أَلحَقَ الشِعرَ بِالشِعرى

فَأَبكى مَحَلَّ أَلحَقَ الشِعرَ بِالشِعرى

And poetry, in my esteem, whenever it laments youth

It makes the place for poetry join the place for poetry.

and brings tears, holds a rank that sets poetry beside Sirius.

If only a new talk of newness would flow,

فَلَيتَ حَديثاً لِلحَداثَةِ لَو جَرى

فَلَيتَ حَديثاً لِلحَداثَةِ لَو جَرى

فَأَسلى وَطَيفاً لِلشَبيبَةِ لَو أَسرى

فَأَسلى وَطَيفاً لِلشَبيبَةِ لَو أَسرى

So would that a tale of youth might flow

Or a specter of youth would steal away.

and console me, and a phantom of youth might travel by night.