لا الصَولَجانُ وَلا المَيدانُ يُعجِبُني

لا الصَولَجانُ وَلا المَيدانُ يُعجِبُني

وَلا أَحِنُّ إِلى صَوتِ البَواشيقِ

وَلا أَحِنُّ إِلى صَوتِ البَواشيقِ

Neither the polo mallet nor the playing field appeals to me.

Neither jousting grounds nor battlefields delight me,

Neither the polo mallet nor the arena pleases me,

Nor do I yearn for the sound of sparrowhawks.

Nor do I yearn for the clamor of drums.

Nor do I yearn for the cry of the hunting hawks.

لَكِنَّما العَيشُ في اللَذّاتِ مُتَّكِئً

لَكِنَّما العَيشُ في اللَذّاتِ مُتَّكِئً

وَفي السَماعِ وَفي مَجِّ الأَباريقِ

وَفي السَماعِ وَفي مَجِّ الأَباريقِ

Rather, living means reclining amid pleasures,

Rather I prefer a life of pleasure reclining,

True life is found in pleasures, reclining at ease,

And amid music, and the outpouring of pitchers.

Listening to music and drinking from pitchers of wine.

In the hearing of songs and the gushing of wine jars.