يَاoh حَبَذَاhow lovely الكاَسُthe cup بِكَفِّin the palm of الحَبِيبْthe beloved
يَا حَبَذَا الكاَسُ بِكَفِّ الحَبِيبْ
أَذَابَتit melted الأَنَوْارَthe lights وَسْطَamid اللَّهِيبْthe blaze
أَذَابَت الأَنَوْارَ وَسْطَ اللَّهِيبْ
Oh, how lovely the cup in the beloved’s palm!
It melted the lights amid the blaze.
وحَبَذَاand how lovely الرَّاحُthe wine الَّتِيthat لَمْhas not تَزَلْceased
وحَبَذَا الرَّاحُ الَّتِي لَمْ تَزَلْ
تَصْرِفُنِيcarries me away بِالسُّكْرِwith drunkenness حَتَّىuntil أَغِيبْI vanish
تَصْرِفُنِي بِالسُّكْرِ حَتَّى أَغِيبْ
And how lovely the wine that has never ceased
To carry me away with drunkenness until I vanish.
يَاO غُصْنَbough of البَانِthe ban-tree أَدِرْpass round وَرْدَهُits rose
يَا غُصْنَ البَانِ أَدِرْ وَرْدَهُ
والوَرْدُand the rose فيin البَانِthe ban-tree لَعَمرِيby my life عَجِيبْwondrous
والوَرْدُ في البَانِ لَعَمرِي عَجِيبْ
O bough of the ban-tree, pass round its rose;
And the rose in the ban-tree is, by my life, wondrous!
وَنَاوِلِand offer الأَقْمَارَthe moons شُهْبَshooting stars الدُّجَىthe night’s darkness
وَنَاوِلِ الأَقْمَارَ شُهْبَ الدُّجَى
يَاO شمْسُsun والأَمْرُand the matter أَيْضاًalso غَرِيبْstrange
يَا شمْسُ والأَمْرُ أَيْضاً غَرِيبْ
And offer the moons the shooting stars of night,
O sun—and this, too, is strange!
أَفْدِيكَI would ransom you مَاthere is no فِيin صَبْوَتِيmy longing رَيْبَةٌdoubt
أَفْدِيكَ مَا فِي صَبْوَتِي رَيْبَةٌ
وَلاَand not لِسُلْوَانِيfor my solace بِقَلْبِat a heart تَصِيبْyou strike
وَلاَ لِسُلْوَانِي بِقَلْبِ تَصِيبْ
I would ransom you; there is no doubt in my longing.
Nor, for my solace, do you strike at a heart [wording unclear].
فَاحْكُمْso decree بِمَاby whatever شئْتَyou wish سِوَىexcept جَفْوَتِيshunning me
فَاحْكُمْ بِمَا شئْتَ سِوَى جَفْوَتِي
فِعْلُdeed حَبِيبيmy beloved كُلُّهُall of it ليto me حَبِيبْdear
فِعْلُ حَبِيبي كُلُّهُ لي حَبِيبْ
So decree whatever you wish, except to shun me;
My beloved’s every deed is dear to me.
Sol 6.1