أَأَدمَيتَhave you bloodied بِالماءِwith water القَراحِpure جَبينَهاher brow
أَأَدمَيتَ بِالماءِ القَراحِ جَبينَها
لِتَسمَعَso that you may hear فيin صَحنِthe bowl الزُجاجِthe glass أَنينَهاher moaning
لِتَسمَعَ في صَحنِ الزُجاجِ أَنينَها
Have you bloodied her brow with pure water,
Did you wet her fevered brow with cool water
Did you bloody her brow with water, clear and cold,
To hear her moaning in the glass bowl?
To hear her moan resonate in the glass bowl?
To hear, within the glass, her weeping told?
فَقَدfor indeed سَمِعَتhave heard أُذناكَyour two ears عِندَat مِزاجِهاher mixing
فَقَد سَمِعَت أُذناكَ عِندَ مِزاجِها
أَنيناًa moan وَأَلحاناًand melodies تُجيبُanswering دَنينَهاher hum
أَنيناً وَأَلحاناً تُجيبُ دَنينَها
For your ears have heard, when she was mixed,
For when her temper rose, your ears did know
For your ears have heard, as the mixture blends,
A moan and melodies answering her hum.
The tunes and sighs that met her soft growl.
The moans and melodies her humming sends.
فَصُنهاso protect her عَنِfrom الماءِwater القَراحِpure وَهاتِهاand bring her
فَصُنها عَنِ الماءِ القَراحِ وَهاتِها
فَإِنَّكَfor indeed you إِنif لَمnot تَسقِنيgive me drink مِتُّI shall die دونَهاwithout her
فَإِنَّكَ إِن لَم تَسقِني مِتُّ دونَها
So shield her from pure water, and bring her;
Spare her the chill water and draw near
So guard her from the water, and pour her pure,
For if you do not give me drink, I shall die without her.
For if you let me perish, no more cheer
For without this draught, my death is sure.
بِآنِيَةٍin vessels مَخروطَةٍlathe-turned مِنfrom زَبَرجَدٍchrysolite
بِآنِيَةٍ مَخروطَةٍ مِن زَبَرجَدٍ
تَخَيَّرَchose كِسرىKhosrow خَرطَهاtheir turning لِيَصونَهاto preserve her
تَخَيَّرَ كِسرى خَرطَها لِيَصونَها
In vessels turned from chrysolite,
Will come from cups of emerald and jade
In a tapered vessel of chrysolite stone,
Whose turning Khosrow chose to keep her safe,
Which Kisra's self did choose with utmost care
Which Chosroes fashioned to keep as his own;
بِكَفٍّin a hand تَكادُnearly الكَأسُthe cup تُدميbloodies بَنانَهاits fingertips
بِكَفٍّ تَكادُ الكَأسُ تُدمي بَنانَها
إِذاwhen أُزعِجَdisturbed التَحريكُmovement مِنهاfrom it سُكونَهاits stillness
إِذا أُزعِجَ التَحريكُ مِنها سُكونَها
In a hand whose fingertips the cup nearly bloodies,
Lest hands should trouble stillness when they laid
In a hand so soft, the cup might wound the skin,
When movement disturbs the stillness within it.
Along the rim and roused slumbering there
When movement stirs the stillness held within.
كَأَنَّas though رِجالَmen الهِندِIndia حَولَaround إِنائِهاher vessel
كَأَنَّ رِجالَ الهِندِ حَولَ إِنائِها
عَكوفٌbent over عَلىupon خَيلٍhorses تُديرُturning مُتونَهاtheir backs
عَكوفٌ عَلى خَيلٍ تُديرُ مُتونَها
As though men of India around her vessel
Turbaned Hindi chiefs round chargers stayed
As if men of Ind, encircling the vase,
Were bent over horses wheeling their backs.
While steeds curvetted underneath their stare
Were bent on steeds, wheeling in the chase.
Sol 6.1