دَعِleave الأَطلالَthe ruins تَسفيهاcovers them with dust الجَنوبُthe south wind
دَعِ الأَطلالَ تَسفيها الجَنوبُ
وَتُبليand wear away عَهدَthe memory of جِدَّتِهاtheir newness الخُطوبُcalamities
وَتُبلي عَهدَ جِدَّتِها الخُطوبُ
Leave the ruins for the south wind to cover with dust,
Leave the ruins for the south wind to mock
Leave the ruins to be scattered by the southern gale,
And let calamities efface the memory of their newness.
And time to erase the covenant of its masters.
And let the passing eras wear away their ancient tale.
وَخَلِّand leave لِراكِبِfor the rider of الوَجناءِthe sturdy she-camel أَرضاًa land
وَخَلِّ لِراكِبِ الوَجناءِ أَرضاً
تَخُبُّtrots بِهاacross it النَجيبَةُthe thoroughbred she-camel وَالنَجيبُand the thoroughbred he-camel
تَخُبُّ بِها النَجيبَةُ وَالنَجيبُ
And leave the rider of the sturdy she-camel a land
Leave the rider of the she-camel a land
Abandon to the rider of the beast that barren land,
Where the thoroughbred she-camel and he-camel trot.
Where the noble and the ignoble sink.
Where the she-camel and her mate trot through the sand.
بِلادٌa land نَبتُهاits vegetation عُشَرٌmilkweed وَطَلحٌand acacia
بِلادٌ نَبتُها عُشَرٌ وَطَلحٌ
وَأَكثَرُand most of صَيدِهاits game ضَبعٌhyena وَذيبُand wolf
وَأَكثَرُ صَيدِها ضَبعٌ وَذيبُ
A land whose plants are milkweed and acacia,
A land whose plants are colocynth and tamarisk,
A country where only the bitter thorn and acacia grow,
And whose game is mostly hyena and wolf.
And whose game is for the most part hyena and wolf.
Where wolves and hyenas are the only game to know.
وَلاand do not تَأخُذtake عَنِfrom الأَعرابِthe Bedouins لَهواًamusement
وَلا تَأخُذ عَنِ الأَعرابِ لَهواً
وَلاnor عَيشاًa way of life فَعَيشُهُمfor their life جَديبُbarren
وَلا عَيشاً فَعَيشُهُم جَديبُ
And take no amusement from the Bedouins,
Take no pleasure from the Bedouins,
Do not adopt the Bedouins' ways of empty mirth,
Nor a way of life, for their life is barren.
For their living is harsh.
Nor their harsh life, for theirs is a life of dearth.
دَعِleave الأَلبانَmilk يَشرَبُهاdrink it رِجالٌmen
دَعِ الأَلبانَ يَشرَبُها رِجالٌ
رَقيقُrefined العَيشِliving بَينَهُمُamong them غَريبُa stranger
رَقيقُ العَيشِ بَينَهُمُ غَريبُ
Leave milk to be drunk by men
Leave the milk for men of easy life to drink,
Leave the drinking of milk to rough desert men,
Among whom refined living is a stranger.
Strange among them is he of noble stock.
Among whom a gentle life is strange and alien.
إِذاwhen رابَsours الحَليبُthe milk فَبُلthen piss عَلَيهِon it
إِذا رابَ الحَليبُ فَبُل عَلَيهِ
وَلاand do not تُحرَجfeel scruples فَماfor there is no فيin ذاكَthat حوبُsin
وَلا تُحرَج فَما في ذاكَ حوبُ
When the milk sours, piss on it,
When the milk turns sour, pour it out
If the milk turns sour, piss on it without a care,
And feel no scruples: there is no sin in that.
And feel no regret, for that is no disgrace.
And feel no guilt, for there is no sin in that affair.
فَأَطيَبُfor finer مِنهُthan it صافِيَةٌclear شَمولٌwine
فَأَطيَبُ مِنهُ صافِيَةٌ شَمولٌ
يَطوفُgoes around بِكَأسِهاwith its cup ساقٍa cupbearer أَديبُcultured
يَطوفُ بِكَأسِها ساقٍ أَديبُ
For finer than it is a clear wine,
Sweeter than it is date wine brought by a slender hand,
Far sweeter is the pure wine, chilled by the northern breeze,
Whose cup a cultured cupbearer carries round.
Borne in a goblet by one graceful and adroit.
Served by a graceful cupbearer who seeks to please.
أَقامَتit stayed حِقبَةًa long while فيin قَعرِthe bottom of دَنٍّa wine jar
أَقامَت حِقبَةً في قَعرِ دَنٍّ
تَفورُit bubbles وَماand not يُحَسُّis felt لَهاfrom it لَهيبُa flame
تَفورُ وَما يُحَسُّ لَها لَهيبُ
It has rested a long while in the depths of a wine jar,
It boiled for an age at the bottom of a vat,
A vintage that has dwelt for ages in the vessel's deep,
Bubbling, though no flame can be felt from it.
Seething, though no fire was lit beneath it.
Seething with spirit, though no fires within it leap.
كَأَنَّas though هَديرَهاits rumbling فيin الدَنِّthe wine jar يَحكيimitates
كَأَنَّ هَديرَها في الدَنِّ يَحكي
قِراةَthe recitation of القَسِّthe priest قابَلَهُfaced him الصَليبُthe cross
قِراةَ القَسِّ قابَلَهُ الصَليبُ
As though its rumbling in the jar were imitating
Its bubbling in the vat sounds like
As if its murmur, bubbling in the cask, recalls
A priest's chanting, with the cross before him.
The murmur of monks faced by the crucifix.
The chanting of a priest before the Cross's walls.
تَمُدُّextend بِهاwith it إِلَيكَtoward you يَداthe two hands of غُلامٍa youth
تَمُدُّ بِها إِلَيكَ يَدا غُلامٍ
أَغَنُّnasal-voiced كَأَنَّهُas though he were رَشَأٌa gazelle fawn رَبيبُhand-reared
أَغَنُّ كَأَنَّهُ رَشَأٌ رَبيبُ
A youth's two hands stretch it toward you—
The hand of a slender lad presents it to you,
Offered to you by the hand of a slender lad,
Nasal-voiced, as though he were a hand-reared gazelle fawn.
Rich as perfumed grape-juice.
With a voice soft as a fawn's, in beauty clad.
غَذَتهُnurtured him صَنعَةُthe skill of الداياتِthe nursemaids حَتّىuntil
غَذَتهُ صَنعَةُ الداياتِ حَتّى
زَهاhe blossomed فَزَهاand blossomed بِهِin him دَلٌّcoquetry وَطيبُand fragrance
زَها فَزَها بِهِ دَلٌّ وَطيبُ
The nursemaids' skill nurtured him until
The arts of his singing nurse nurtured him until
Nurtured by the craft of nursemaids till he grew,
He blossomed, and coquetry and fragrance blossomed in him.
He was succulent with grace and delight.
And bloomed with coquetry and scent, a vision new.
يَجُرُّslackens لَكَfor you العِنانَthe reins إِذاwhen حَساهاhe sips it
يَجُرُّ لَكَ العِنانَ إِذا حَساها
وَيَفتَحُand opens عَقدُthe knot of تَكَّتِهِhis trouser-cord الدَبيبُcreeping movement
وَيَفتَحُ عَقدُ تَكَّتِهِ الدَبيبُ
He gives you free rein when he sips it,
He leads the halter for you when you race it
He yields the reins to you once he has sipped the wine,
And a creeping movement undoes his trouser-cord's knot.
And the knot of his girdle comes undone.
As the creeping stupor unknots his belt so fine.
وَإِنand if جَمَّشتُهُI fondled him خَلَبَتكَbewitched you مِنهُfrom him
وَإِن جَمَّشتُهُ خَلَبَتكَ مِنهُ
طَرائِفُnovel charms تُستَخَفُّare set aflutter لَهاby them القُلوبُhearts
طَرائِفُ تُستَخَفُّ لَها القُلوبُ
And if I fondle him, you are bewitched by his
When I tease him, you steal from him
And if you toy with him, he charms your very soul
Novel charms that set hearts aflutter.
Wiles to ensnare hearts and beguile minds.
With witty jests that make the heavy spirit whole.
يَنوءُrises with effort بِرِدفِهِunder his rump's weight فَإِذاand when تَمَشّىhe walks
يَنوءُ بِرِدفِهِ فَإِذا تَمَشّى
تَثَنّىsways فيin غَلائِلِهِhis fine tunics قَضيبُa slender bough
تَثَنّى في غَلائِلِهِ قَضيبُ
He labors under his rump's weight; and when he walks,
He sways under his saddle, and when he trots
He rises with heavy hips, but when he moves along,
A slender bough sways within his fine tunics.
His whip bends into ringlets.
A willow branch sways in his robes, lithe and strong.
يَكادُhe nearly مِنَfrom الدَلالِcoquetry إِذاwhen تَثَنّىhe sways
يَكادُ مِنَ الدَلالِ إِذا تَثَنّى
عَلَيكَtoward you وَمِنand from تَساقُطِهِhis languid drooping يَذوبُhe melts
عَلَيكَ وَمِن تَساقُطِهِ يَذوبُ
He nearly, from coquetry, when he sways
He nearly swoons from coquetry when he bends
He almost—from pure grace when he bends and sways—
Toward you, and from his languid drooping, melts.
Toward you, melting from the falling of his curls.
Melts upon you, dissolving in a languid haze.
وَأَحمَقَand more foolish مِنthan مُغَيِّبَةٍa wife whose husband is away تَراءىappears
وَأَحمَقَ مِن مُغَيِّبَةٍ تَراءى
إِذاwhen ماever اِختانَsteals لَحظَتَهاher glance مُريبُa dubious man
إِذا ما اِختانَ لَحظَتَها مُريبُ
And more foolish than a wife whose husband is away, before whom appears
More foolish than a maid glimpsed from afar
Foolish as the lonely wife who flaunts her guise,
A dubious man whenever he steals her glance.
When her glances are clouded by a spy.
Catching the gaze of untrusting, prying eyes.
أَعاذِلَتيO my reproacher اِقصُريdesist عَنfrom بَعضِsome of لَوميblaming me
أَعاذِلَتي اِقصُري عَن بَعضِ لَومي
فَراجيfor whoever hopes for تَوبَتيmy repentance عِنديwith me يَخيبُis disappointed
فَراجي تَوبَتي عِندي يَخيبُ
O my reproacher, spare me some of your blame,
My censurers, stop blaming me in part,
O woman who scolds me, cut short your bitter blame,
For whoever hopes for my repentance will be disappointed in me.
For I have lost hope of repenting before you.
For he who hopes for my repentance waits in vain.
تَعيبينَyou fault الذُنوبَsins وَأَيُّand what حُرٍّfreeborn man
تَعيبينَ الذُنوبَ وَأَيُّ حُرٍّ
مِنَamong الفِتيانِyoung men لَيسَis not لَهُfor him ذُنوبُsins
مِنَ الفِتيانِ لَيسَ لَهُ ذُنوبُ
You condemn sins; but what freeborn man
You blame me for sins—and what free man
You find fault with sins, yet what free-born man,
Among the young men is without sins?
Among the youths is without sins?
Among the gallant youths, is guiltless in his span?
فَهَذاfor this العَيشُliving لاnot خِيَمُthe tents of البَواديthe deserts
فَهَذا العَيشُ لا خِيَمُ البَوادي
وَهَذاand this العَيشُliving لاnot اللَبَنُmilk الحَليبُfreshly milked
وَهَذا العَيشُ لا اللَبَنُ الحَليبُ
This, then, is living—not the tents of the desert!
This life is not the tents of the desert folk
This is the life—not the tents of the wild waste,
And this is living—not fresh milk!
Nor the sweet milk to drink.
This is the life—not the milk of bitter taste.
فَأَينَso where البَدوُthe Bedouins مِنcompared with إيوانِthe vaulted hall of كِسرىKisra
فَأَينَ البَدوُ مِن إيوانِ كِسرى
وَأَينَand where مِنَcompared with المَيادينِthe open squares الزُروبُlivestock pens
وَأَينَ مِنَ المَيادينِ الزُروبُ
So what are the Bedouins beside Kisra's vaulted hall?
Where are the Bedouins from Chosroes' palace
How far is the Bedouin from Khosrow's royal hall!
And what are livestock pens beside open squares?
And the race-course with its flown dust?
How far the cattle-pen from the spacious city square!
غُرُرتِyou were deceived بِتَوبَتيby my repentance وَلَجَجتِand you persisted فيهاin it
غُرُرتِ بِتَوبَتي وَلَجَجتِ فيها
فَشُقّيso tear اليَومَtoday جَيبَكِyour garment's neckline لاnot أَتوبُI repent
فَشُقّي اليَومَ جَيبَكِ لا أَتوبُ
You were deluded about my repentance and kept insisting on it;
You tricked me with talk of repenting, but plunged ahead
You were deceived by hopes of my reform, misled and blind,
So tear your collar today: I will not repent!
And so my lot today is—I shall never repent.
So tear your robe in grief today—I will not change my mind!
Sol 6.1