من لي بظبيٍ جَناه معسولُ

من لي بظبيٍ جَناه معسولُ

دَمي بِدَمْعِي عليهِ مَغْسُولُ

دَمي بِدَمْعِي عليهِ مَغْسُولُ

Who will bring me a gazelle whose fruit is honey-sweet?

Who will bring me a gazelle whose fruit is honey-sweet?

Who will bring me a gazelle whose cheeks are honey sweet

Who will aid me with a fawn whose harvest is honeyed?

My blood, shed for him, is washed in my tears.

My blood is washed with my tears for him.

My tears have washed it while blood is my winding sheet

My blood is washed away by my tears for his sake.

أَقْرأُ فِي خَدِّهِ كتابَ هوىً

أَقْرأُ فِي خَدِّهِ كتابَ هوىً

أَنَّ دمَ العاشِقينَ مَطلولُ

أَنَّ دمَ العاشِقينَ مَطلولُ

Upon his cheek I read a book of love:

I read on his cheek a book of love:

Within its cheeks I read love's tale for lovers' blood

I read upon his cheek a scripture of passion,

the blood of lovers goes unavenged.

That lovers' blood is shed unavenged.

Is shed in sacrifice while passions fiercely beat

Declaring that the blood of lovers is shed with impunity.

حُسَامُ عينكَ من فُتُورِهما

حُسَامُ عينكَ من فُتُورِهما

كأنَّه مُغْمَدٌ ومَسْلُولُ

كأنَّه مُغْمَدٌ ومَسْلُولُ

The saber of your eyes, in their languor,

Your eye's sword, through the languor of your eyes,

Your sword-like glances in their sheaths, your eyes do rest

The sword of your eye, drawn from its languor,

seems at once sheathed and drawn.

Seems at once sheathed and drawn.

As though a sword were sheathed and put away from heat

Appears as if sheathed, yet fully unsheathed.

اغمد وسُلَّ ليسَ لي وَزَرٌ

اغمد وسُلَّ ليسَ لي وَزَرٌ

أنا على الحالَتْينِ مَقْتُولُ

أنا على الحالَتْينِ مَقْتُولُ

Sheathe it or draw it—I have no refuge;

Sheathe it and draw it; I have no refuge:

But bare your blade and strike, for I have no defense

Sheathe it or draw it—I have no sanctuary;

in either state, I am slain.

I am slain in either state.

Whether you sheathe or strike, for me defeat is meet

For in either state, I am surely slain.