له وجنةٌ سبحان منبت وردها

له وجنةٌ سبحان منبت وردها

ليبدي لطيفَ الصنع في ذلك الصبغ

ليبدي لطيفَ الصنع في ذلك الصبغ

He has a cheek—glory be to the One who makes its roses bloom—

He has a garden, glory to Him who planted its roses

to reveal exquisite handiwork in that hue.

To reveal the gentle artistry in their hue

وما شق قلبي غير شعرةِ خدهِ

وما شق قلبي غير شعرةِ خدهِ

وما جبرُ ذاك الصدع مني سوى الصدغ

وما جبرُ ذاك الصدع مني سوى الصدغ

And nothing split my heart but a hair on his cheek,

Naught has rent my heart but a hair of his cheek

and nothing mends that rift within me but his temple.

And naught will mend that fracture save pressing lips to his ear