سَلَبْتُمْyou stole رُقَادِيmy sleep فِيin الهَوَىlove وتَجَلُّدِيand my endurance
سَلَبْتُمْ رُقَادِي فِي الهَوَى وتَجَلُّدِي
وَزِدْتُمْand you increased بِدَمْعِيwith my tears فِيin ظَمَاthe thirst of قَلْبِيَmy heart الصَّدِيparched
وَزِدْتُمْ بِدَمْعِي فِي ظَمَا قَلْبِيَ الصَّدِي
You robbed me, in love, of my sleep and endurance,
And with my tears you increased my parched heart's thirst.
وَأَلْبَسْتُمُونِيand you clothed me مِنْfrom جُفُونِكُمُyour eyelids ضَناًwasting sickness
وَأَلْبَسْتُمُونِي مِنْ جُفُونِكُمُ ضَناً
فَوَاso, oh عَجَباًwhat a wonder مِنْat لاَبِسٍone clothed مُتَجَرِّدِstripped bare
فَوَا عَجَباً مِنْ لاَبِسٍ مُتَجَرِّدِ
And you clothed me in wasting sickness from your eyelids;
So, what a wonder: one clothed, yet stripped bare!
أَأَحْباَبَنَاO our beloveds لاَnay والْغَرَامِby passion الَّذِيwhich لَهُto it
أَأَحْباَبَنَا لاَ والْغَرَامِ الَّذِي لَهُ
ورُودِيmy coming to drink وَمَالِيand I have no مَصْدَرٌdeparture بَعْدَafter مَوْرِدِيmy arrival at the water
ورُودِي وَمَالِي مَصْدَرٌ بَعْدَ مَوْرِدِي
O our beloveds! Nay, by the passion to which
I come to drink, with no departure after my arrival—
لَئِنْif indeed كُنْتُمُyou had أَنْبَتُّمُوyou made grow رَسْمِيَmy form الَّذِيwhich
لَئِنْ كُنْتُمُ أَنْبَتُّمُو رَسْمِيَ الَّذِي
مِنَfrom السُّقْمِsickness لَوْلاَbut for الوَصْلunion لمْdid not يَتَجَسَّدِtake bodily form
مِنَ السُّقْمِ لَوْلاَ الوَصْل لمْ يَتَجَسَّدِ
If indeed you made my form grow, which
Would, from sickness, have remained bodiless but for union,
فمَاthen ... not نَبَتَتَgrew تِلْكَthose الرُّسُومُforms بِغَيْرِكُمْthrough anyone but you
فمَا نَبَتَتَ تِلْكَ الرُّسُومُ بِغَيْرِكُمْ
وَلَوْلاَكُمُand but for you كَانَwould have been الفَنَاءُannihilation بِمَرْصَدِin ambush
وَلَوْلاَكُمُ كَانَ الفَنَاءُ بِمَرْصَدِ
Then those forms grew through none but you,
And but for you, annihilation would have lain in wait.
دَعُواlet أَدْمُعِيmy tears تَسْقِيwater مَعَاهِدَthe haunts of أَرْضِكُمْyour land
دَعُوا أَدْمُعِي تَسْقِي مَعَاهِدَ أَرْضِكُمْ
فَفِيfor in غَيْثِهَاtheir rain الهَامِيpouring رِضَاthe contentment of 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 تَسْأَمُواtire مِنْof نَاحِلٍone grown thin أَشْبَهَresembled الضَّنَاwasting sickness
وَلاَ تَسْأَمُوا مِنْ نَاحِلٍ أَشْبَهَ الضَّنَا
سِقَاماًin sickness وَأَنْفَاساًand sighs وَفَرْطَand excess of تَرَدُّدِcoming and going
سِقَاماً وَأَنْفَاساً وَفَرْطَ تَرَدُّدِ
And do not tire of one grown thin, who resembles wasting sickness
In sickness, sighs, and ceaseless coming and going;
فَمَاfor it is not حَقُّthe due of أَنْفَاسِthe breaths of الصَّبَاthe east wind أَنْthat تَمَلَّهَاgrow weary of them
فَمَا حَقُّ أَنْفَاسِ الصَّبَا أَنْ تَمَلَّهَا
غُصُونُthe boughs of النَّقَاthe sand dune مَعْwith لِينِهَاtheir suppleness وَالتَّأَوُّدِand swaying
غُصُونُ النَّقَا مَعْ لِينِهَا وَالتَّأَوُّدِ
For the east wind's breaths do not deserve to be found tiresome
By the dune's boughs, with their suppleness and swaying.
وَلاand do not تَسْأَمُواtire مِنْof نَاحِلٍone grown thin أَشْبَهَresembled الضَّنَاwasting sickness
وَلا تَسْأَمُوا مِنْ نَاحِلٍ أَشْبَهَ الضَّنَا
سِقَاماًin sickness وَأَنْفَاساًand sighs وَفَرْطَand excess of تَرَدُّدِcoming and going
سِقَاماً وَأَنْفَاساً وَفَرْطَ تَرَدُّدِ
And do not tire of one grown thin, who resembles wasting sickness
In sickness, sighs, and ceaseless coming and going;
فَمَاfor it is not حَقُّthe due of أَنْفَاسِthe breaths of الصِّبَاyouth أَنْthat تَمَلَّهَاgrow weary of them
فَمَا حَقُّ أَنْفَاسِ الصِّبَا أَنْ تَمَلَّهَا
غُصُونُthe boughs of النَّقَاthe sand dune مَعْwith لِينهَاtheir suppleness وَالتَّأَوُّدِand swaying
غُصُونُ النَّقَا مَعْ لِينهَا وَالتَّأَوُّدِ
For the breaths of youth do not deserve to be found tiresome
By the dune's boughs, with their suppleness and swaying.
وَلاَand do not تَعْتِبُواreproach فِيfor النَّوْحِlamentation كُلَّevery مُطَوَّقٍcollared dove
وَلاَ تَعْتِبُوا فِي النَّوْحِ كُلَّ مُطَوَّقٍ
عَلَىupon هَيْفِthe slenderness of أَعْطَافِthe curves of الغُصُونِthe boughs مُغَرِّدِwarbling
عَلَى هَيْفِ أَعْطَافِ الغُصُونِ مُغَرِّدِ
And do not blame each collared dove for its lament,
Warbling upon the slender curves of the boughs.
لأَنَّكُمُbecause you طَوَّقْتُمُyou have collared كُلَّevery عَاشِقٍlover
لأَنَّكُمُ طَوَّقْتُمُ كُلَّ عَاشِقٍ
بِدَمْعٍwith tears فَرَاحُواso they went off بَيْنَbetween بَاكٍone weeping وَمُنْشِدِand one chanting verse
بِدَمْعٍ فَرَاحُوا بَيْنَ بَاكٍ وَمُنْشِدِ
For you have collared every lover
With tears, so off they went, some weeping and some chanting verse.
فَيَاso, O سَاقِيَcupbearer of الأَجْفَانِthe eyelids خَمْرَكَyour wine عَاطِنيoffer me
فَيَا سَاقِيَ الأَجْفَانِ خَمْرَكَ عَاطِني
وَيَاand O سَكْرَتِيmy drunkenness مِنْهَاfrom it عَلىagainst الصَّحْوِsobriety عَرْبِدِيrage drunkenly
وَيَا سَكْرَتِي مِنْهَا عَلى الصَّحْوِ عَرْبِدِي
So, O cupbearer of the eyelids, pass me your wine,
And, O my drunkenness from it, rage against sobriety!
Sol 6.1