رُبَّ مًنْ صَادَنِي وَبرَّحَبِي

رُبَّ مًنْ صَادَنِي وَبرَّحَبِي

صِدْتُهُ بِالأَشْرَاكِ مِنْ أَدَبِي

صِدْتُهُ بِالأَشْرَاكِ مِنْ أَدَبِي

Many a one who ensnared me and tormented me—

Many a one who hunted me and brought me agony,

I ensnared him with the snares of my literary art.

I have ensnared with the nets of my poetry,

فَقَطَفْتُ الشَّقِيقَ منْ وجْهِهِ

فَقَطَفْتُ الشَّقِيقَ منْ وجْهِهِ

وَاغْتَبَقْتُمِنْ فِيهِ بِالضَّرَبِ

وَاغْتَبَقْتُمِنْ فِيهِ بِالضَّرَبِ

Then I plucked the anemone from his face,

Then I plucked the red anemone from his face,

And took my evening draught of thick white honey from his mouth.

And drank an evening draught of sweet honey from his mouth,

وَهَصَرْتُ مِنْ قَدِّهِ غُصُناً

وَهَصَرْتُ مِنْ قَدِّهِ غُصُناً

مُثْمِراً بِالْهِلاَلِ وَالشُّهُبِ

مُثْمِراً بِالْهِلاَلِ وَالشُّهُبِ

And bent toward me a bough of his form,

And I bent down a tender branch from his swaying figure,

Bearing the crescent moon and shooting stars as fruit.

Bearing the radiant fruit of crescents and stars.

قَالَ لِي عِنْدَمَا ظَفِرْتُ بِهِ

قَالَ لِي عِنْدَمَا ظَفِرْتُ بِهِ

وَنَجَوْتُ مِنَ لُجَّةِ الْعَطَبِ

وَنَجَوْتُ مِنَ لُجَّةِ الْعَطَبِ

He said to me, when I had won him

He asked me when I had finally conquered him,

And escaped the deep waters of ruin,

And was delivered from the deep abyss of ruin:

مَا أُسَاوِي لَدَيْكَ قُلْتُ لَهُ

مَا أُسَاوِي لَدَيْكَ قُلْتُ لَهُ

يَا حَيَاتِي حُشَاشَتِيوَأَبِي

يَا حَيَاتِي حُشَاشَتِيوَأَبِي

“What am I worth to you?” I said to him,

"What is my worth to you?" I answered him,

“O my life, you are worth my life's last breath and my father!”

"O my life, my very soul, and my father!"