ما كلَّما بل ربَّما عبثَ البُكا

ما كلَّما بل ربَّما عبثَ البُكا

بدموعِ عينِكَ من بُكاءِ حَمامِ

بدموعِ عينِكَ من بُكاءِ حَمامِ

Not always, but sometimes, weeping toys

Not every time, but perhaps the tears

Not always, yet perhaps, has weeping toyed with your eyes' tears, stirred by a dove's lament,

With your eye’s tears at the lament of doves.

In your eyes from a dove's crying

And when the North Wind breathes at eventide, its gentle sigh stirs up my buried pain.

وإذا الشمالُ معَ العشيِّ تنسَّمتْ

وإذا الشمالُ معَ العشيِّ تنسَّمتْ

هاجَ التنسُّمُ لي دفينَ سقامِ

هاجَ التنسُّمُ لي دفينَ سقامِ

And when the north wind breathes at dusk,

And when the north wind blows at dusk

Its wafting stirs a buried sickness in me.

Stirs up for me a buried sickness