أَنَفحَةُis it a waft طيبٍperfume ماwhat تَنَسَّمتُI inhaled أَمor نَظمُverse
أَنَفحَةُ طيبٍ ما تَنَسَّمتُ أَم نَظمُ
وَفَضلَةُand a remnant of كَأسٍa cup ماتَرَشَّفتُwhat I sipped أَمor ظَلمُsaliva (tooth-dew)
وَفَضلَةُ كَأسٍ ماتَرَشَّفتُ أَم ظَلمُ
Was it a waft of perfume I inhaled, or verse?
And was it a cup’s last drops I sipped, or the dew of teeth?
خَطيرٌprecious مِنَof الشِعرِpoetry اِشتَمَلتُI wrapped myself بِبُردِهِin its mantle
خَطيرٌ مِنَ الشِعرِ اِشتَمَلتُ بِبُردِهِ
وَقَدand already بَزَّstripped جِسميmy body بُردَةَthe cloak الصَحَّةِhealth السُقمُsickness
وَقَد بَزَّ جِسمي بُردَةَ الصَحَّةِ السُقمُ
Precious verse, in whose mantle I wrapped myself,
When sickness had stripped my body of the cloak of health.
يَكادُalmost يَشِفُّbecomes translucent الطِرسُthe page عَنto reveal نورِthe light of حُسنِهِits beauty
يَكادُ يَشِفُّ الطِرسُ عَن نورِ حُسنِهِ
وَماand not فَضَّwas broken فيin ثَوبِthe robe of الدَياجيnight’s darkness لَهُfor it خَتمُa seal
وَما فَضَّ في ثَوبِ الدَياجي لَهُ خَتمُ
The page almost lets the light of its beauty shine through,
Though its seal remains unbroken in the robe of night.
تَفَجَّرَburst forth فيهِwithin it الطَبعُpoetic genius فَجراًas dawn وَإِنَّماand only
تَفَجَّرَ فيهِ الطَبعُ فَجراً وَإِنَّما
أَطَلَّrose بِهِin it مِنfrom كُلِّevery قافِيَةٍrhyme نَجمُa star
أَطَلَّ بِهِ مِن كُلِّ قافِيَةٍ نَجمُ
Poetic genius burst forth in it as dawn, yet only
A star rose in it from every rhyme.
وَلَوand if أَنَّthat سَمعاًan ear ثَمَّthere يُصغيlistened closely لَماwould not دَرىknow
وَلَو أَنَّ سَمعاً ثَمَّ يُصغي لَما دَرى
أَبَيتٌis it a verse يُرَوّىis recited أَمor يُراشُis fletched لَهُfor it سَهمُan arrow
أَبَيتٌ يُرَوّى أَم يُراشُ لَهُ سَهمُ
And if an ear were listening there, it could not tell
Whether a verse was being recited or an arrow fletched for it.
شَفانيit healed me وَقَدand already أَشفىbrought near الضَنىwasting sickness بيme عَلىto الرَدىdeath
شَفاني وَقَد أَشفى الضَنى بي عَلى الرَدى
وَبَعضُand some الكَلامِspeech الحُرِّnoble يُشفىis healed بِهِby it الكَلمُthe wound
وَبَعضُ الكَلامِ الحُرِّ يُشفى بِهِ الكَلمُ
It healed me when wasting sickness had brought me to death’s brink,
And some noble speech can heal a wound.
فَقَبَّلتُso I kissed كَفّاًa hand أَتحَفَتنيgifted me بِعِلقِهِwith its treasure
فَقَبَّلتُ كَفّاً أَتحَفَتني بِعِلقِهِ
وَحَقٌّand it is right لِكَأسِfor the cup of الراحِwine أَنthat يُكرَمُbe honored الكَرَمُthe vine
وَحَقٌّ لِكَأسِ الراحِ أَن يُكرَمُ الكَرَمُ
So I kissed a hand that had graced me with its treasure;
And for the wine cup’s sake, the vine deserves honor.
وَعانَقتُand I embraced عُنواناًa heading هُناكَthere قَرَأتُهُI read it
وَعانَقتُ عُنواناً هُناكَ قَرَأتُهُ
وَقُلتُand I said أَلاah لَيتَif only التَمَنّيwishing هُوَit الإِسمُthe name
وَقُلتُ أَلا لَيتَ التَمَنّي هُوَ الإِسمُ
And I embraced a heading that I read there,
And said, “Ah, if only wishing were the name!”
أَباO Abu جَعفَرٍJa‘far لِلَّهِto God دَرُّكَyour excellence فارِساًas a horseman
أَبا جَعفَرٍ لِلَّهِ دَرُّكَ فارِساً
بِحَيثُwhere سُطورُthe lines of الشِعرِpoetry خَيلٌsteeds لَهُfor him دُهمُblack
بِحَيثُ سُطورُ الشِعرِ خَيلٌ لَهُ دُهمُ
O Abu Ja‘far, God bless you—what a horseman,
For whom the lines of verse are black steeds!
Sol 6.1