مِنَfrom الدَنِفِthe lovesick man الَّذيwho يُمسيpasses the evening حَزيناًsorrowful
مِنَ الدَنِفِ الَّذي يُمسي حَزيناً
وَبَينَand between ضُلوعِهِhis ribs قَلبٌa heart مُصابُstricken
وَبَينَ ضُلوعِهِ قَلبٌ مُصابُ
From the lovesick man who passes the evening in sorrow,
From the sad lute that grieves at eventide
And between whose ribs lies a stricken heart,
With heart sore wounded and spirit troubled,
إِلىto الخَودِthe lovely maiden الَّتيwho سَلَبَتstole فُؤاديmy heart
إِلى الخَودِ الَّتي سَلَبَت فُؤادي
فَأَمسىso it became ماnot يَسوغُgoes down easily لَهُfor it شَرابُa drink
فَأَمسى ما يَسوغُ لَهُ شَرابُ
To the lovely maiden who stole my heart,
To the cheek that hath robbed my heart of sleep
So now it can swallow no drink.
And made my tears flow in anguished rapture,
يَنامُsleep الهاجِعونَthe sleepers وَنَومُand the sleep عَينيmy eye
يَنامُ الهاجِعونَ وَنَومُ عَيني
إِذاwhen هَجَعواthey slumber بُكاءٌweeping وَاِنتِحابُand sobbing
إِذا هَجَعوا بُكاءٌ وَاِنتِحابُ
The sleepers sleep, but the sleep of my eye,
The sleepers slumber, but my eyes find rest
When they slumber, is weeping and sobbing.
Only in weeping and sad lamenting,
فَلَوso if نَطَقَspoke الكِتابُthe letter فَدَتكِmay it ransom you نَفسيmy soul
فَلَو نَطَقَ الكِتابُ فَدَتكِ نَفسي
بَكىwould weep قَلَقاًin anguish ليَرحَمَنيto have mercy on me الكِتابُthe letter
بَكى قَلَقاً ليَرحَمَني الكِتابُ
So if the letter could speak—may my soul be your ransom—
Could letters speak, then on your book, my soul,
The letter would weep in anguish to show me mercy.
Would weep unrestrained, and win your mercy.
Sol 6.1