سَلَبْتُمْyou stole رُقَادِيmy sleep فِيin الهَوَىlove وتَجَلُّدِيand my fortitude
سَلَبْتُمْ رُقَادِي فِي الهَوَى وتَجَلُّدِي
وَزِدْتُمْand you increased بِدَمْعِيwith my tears فِيin ظَمَاthe thirst قَلْبِيَmy heart الصَّدِيparched
وَزِدْتُمْ بِدَمْعِي فِي ظَمَا قَلْبِيَ الصَّدِي
You have robbed me, in love, of my sleep and fortitude,
and with my tears you deepened my parched heart's thirst.
وَأَلْبَسْتُمُونِيand you clothed me مِنْfrom جُفُونِكُمُyour eyelids ضَناًwasting sickness
وَأَلْبَسْتُمُونِي مِنْ جُفُونِكُمُ ضَناً
فَوَاso, oh! عَجَباًwonder مِنْat لاَبِسٍone clothed مُتَجَرِّدِstripped bare
فَوَا عَجَباً مِنْ لاَبِسٍ مُتَجَرِّدِ
And from your eyelids you clothed me in wasting sickness—
so what a marvel: one clothed, yet stripped bare!
أَأَحْباَبَنَاO our beloveds لاَno والْغَرَامِby passion الَّذِيwhich لَهُto it
أَأَحْباَبَنَا لاَ والْغَرَامِ الَّذِي لَهُ
ورُودِيmy coming to drink وَمَالِيand I have no مَصْدَرٌdeparture بَعْدَafter مَوْرِدِيmy arrival at water
ورُودِي وَمَالِي مَصْدَرٌ بَعْدَ مَوْرِدِي
O our beloveds, no—by the passion to which
I come to drink, and have no way out after my arrival:
لَئِنْif indeed كُنْتُمُyou were أَنْبَتُّمُوyou made grow رَسْمِيَmy outline الَّذِيwhich
لَئِنْ كُنْتُمُ أَنْبَتُّمُو رَسْمِيَ الَّذِي
مِنَfrom السُّقْمِsickness لَوْلاَbut for الوَصْلunion لمْdid not يَتَجَسَّدِbecome embodied
مِنَ السُّقْمِ لَوْلاَ الوَصْل لمْ يَتَجَسَّدِ
If indeed you made my mere outline grow—one that
because of sickness, would not have taken bodily form but for union—
فمَاthen not نَبَتَتَgrew تِلْكَthose الرُّسُومُoutlines بِغَيْرِكُمْwithout you
فمَا نَبَتَتَ تِلْكَ الرُّسُومُ بِغَيْرِكُمْ
وَلَوْلاَكُمُand but for you كَانَwould have been الفَنَاءُannihilation بِمَرْصَدِin ambush
وَلَوْلاَكُمُ كَانَ الفَنَاءُ بِمَرْصَدِ
then those outlines grew through none but you,
and but for you, annihilation would have lain in wait.
دَعُواlet أَدْمُعِيmy tears تَسْقِيwater مَعَاهِدَfamiliar haunts أَرْضِكُمْyour land
دَعُوا أَدْمُعِي تَسْقِي مَعَاهِدَ أَرْضِكُمْ
فَفِيfor in غَيْثِهَاtheir rain الهَامِيpouring رِضَاcontentment كُلِّevery مَعْهَدِhaunt
فَفِي غَيْثِهَا الهَامِي رِضَا كُلِّ مَعْهَدِ
Let my tears water the haunts of your land,
for in their pouring rain lies every haunt's contentment.
وَلاَand do not تَسْأَمُواgrow weary مِنْof نَاحِلٍan emaciated man أَشْبَهَresembled الضَّنَاwasting sickness
وَلاَ تَسْأَمُوا مِنْ نَاحِلٍ أَشْبَهَ الضَّنَا
سِقَاماًsickness وَأَنْفَاساًand breaths وَفَرْطَand excess تَرَدُّدِcoming and going
سِقَاماً وَأَنْفَاساً وَفَرْطَ تَرَدُّدِ
And do not tire of an emaciated man who resembles wasting sickness
in sickness, sighs, and constant coming and going.
فَمَاfor not حَقُّwhat is due أَنْفَاسِthe breaths الصَّبَاthe east wind أَنْthat تَمَلَّهَاtire of them
فَمَا حَقُّ أَنْفَاسِ الصَّبَا أَنْ تَمَلَّهَا
غُصُونُthe boughs النَّقَاthe sand dune مَعْdespite لِينِهَاtheir suppleness وَالتَّأَوُّدِand swaying
غُصُونُ النَّقَا مَعْ لِينِهَا وَالتَّأَوُّدِ
For the east wind's breaths should not weary
the dune's boughs, for all their suppleness and swaying.
وَلاand do not تَسْأَمُواgrow weary مِنْof نَاحِلٍan emaciated man أَشْبَهَresembled الضَّنَاwasting sickness
وَلا تَسْأَمُوا مِنْ نَاحِلٍ أَشْبَهَ الضَّنَا
سِقَاماًsickness وَأَنْفَاساًand breaths وَفَرْطَand excess تَرَدُّدِcoming and going
سِقَاماً وَأَنْفَاساً وَفَرْطَ تَرَدُّدِ
And do not tire of an emaciated man who resembles wasting sickness
in sickness, sighs, and constant coming and going.
فَمَاfor not حَقُّwhat is due أَنْفَاسِthe breaths الصِّبَاyouth أَنْthat تَمَلَّهَاtire of them
فَمَا حَقُّ أَنْفَاسِ الصِّبَا أَنْ تَمَلَّهَا
غُصُونُthe boughs النَّقَاthe sand dune مَعْdespite لِينهَاtheir suppleness وَالتَّأَوُّدِand swaying
غُصُونُ النَّقَا مَعْ لِينهَا وَالتَّأَوُّدِ
For the breaths of youth should not weary
the dune's boughs, for all their suppleness and swaying.
وَلاَand do not تَعْتِبُواreproach فِيfor النَّوْحِlamentation كُلَّevery مُطَوَّقٍcollared dove
وَلاَ تَعْتِبُوا فِي النَّوْحِ كُلَّ مُطَوَّقٍ
عَلَىupon هَيْفِthe slenderness أَعْطَافِthe curves الغُصُونِthe boughs مُغَرِّدِsinging
عَلَى هَيْفِ أَعْطَافِ الغُصُونِ مُغَرِّدِ
And do not reproach every collared dove for lamenting,
as it sings upon the slender curves of boughs,
لأَنَّكُمُbecause you طَوَّقْتُمُyou collared كُلَّevery عَاشِقٍlover
لأَنَّكُمُ طَوَّقْتُمُ كُلَّ عَاشِقٍ
بِدَمْعٍwith tears فَرَاحُواso they went بَيْنَbetween بَاكٍone weeping وَمُنْشِدِand one chanting
بِدَمْعٍ فَرَاحُوا بَيْنَ بَاكٍ وَمُنْشِدِ
for you have collared every lover
with tears; so they went, some weeping, some chanting.
فَيَاso, O سَاقِيَcupbearer الأَجْفَانِthe eyelids خَمْرَكَyour wine عَاطِنيgive me
فَيَا سَاقِيَ الأَجْفَانِ خَمْرَكَ عَاطِني
وَيَاand O سَكْرَتِيmy intoxication مِنْهَاfrom it عَلىagainst الصَّحْوِsobriety عَرْبِدِيrun riot
وَيَا سَكْرَتِي مِنْهَا عَلى الصَّحْوِ عَرْبِدِي
So, cupbearer of eyelids, pass me your wine,
and, O my intoxication from it, run riot against sobriety!
Sol 6.1