رب ورقاء هتوف في الضحى

رب ورقاء هتوف في الضحى

ذات شجو صدحت في فنن

ذات شجو صدحت في فنن

Many a plaintive dove cries out at daybreak,

Many a gray dove, loudly calling in the forenoon,

O companion of the meadows, your laments at dawn

full of sorrow, singing from a bough;

full of sorrow, has sung upon a bough.

With grieving melodies proclaim sorrows,

ذكرت إلفاً ودهراً صالحاً

ذكرت إلفاً ودهراً صالحاً

فبكت حزناً وهاجت حزني

فبكت حزناً وهاجت حزني

remembering a beloved and happier days,

She recalled a beloved companion and a happy time,

Recalling old affections and days gone by,

she wept in grief and stirred my grief.

so she wept in sorrow and stirred my sorrow.

You weep in sadness and stir my sadness.

فبكائي ربما أرقها

فبكائي ربما أرقها

وبكاها ربما أرقني

وبكاها ربما أرقني

My weeping may sometimes keep her awake,

So my weeping sometimes kept her awake,

Perhaps my tears distress you,

and her weeping may sometimes keep me awake.

and her weeping sometimes kept me awake.

And your tears distress me, too.

ولقد تشكو فما أفهمها

ولقد تشكو فما أفهمها

ولقد أشكو فما تفهمني

ولقد أشكو فما تفهمني

Indeed, she laments, but I do not understand her;

And indeed she laments, yet I do not understand her,

Though you complain, I do not understand,

and indeed, I lament, but she does not understand me.

and indeed I lament, yet she does not understand me.

And though I complain, you do not understand me.

غير أني بالجوى أعرفها

غير أني بالجوى أعرفها

وهي أيضا بالجوى تعرفني

وهي أيضا بالجوى تعرفني

Yet through love’s anguish I know her,

Yet through heartache I know her,

Yet I know you through ardor,

and she, too, through love’s anguish knows me.

and she too, through heartache, knows me.

And you know me through ardor, too.

أتراها بالبكا مولعة

أتراها بالبكا مولعة

أم سقاها البين ما جرعني

أم سقاها البين ما جرعني

Do you suppose she is enamored of weeping,

Do you think she is fond of weeping,

Do I see you inclined toward weeping,

or has separation made her drink what it made me swallow?

or has separation made her drink what it made me swallow?

Or has separation given you my draught of sorrow?