1. هِيَ نَفسي إِشراقة مِن سَماء اللَــه تَحبو مَع القُرون وَتبطيمَوجة كَالسَماء تَقلع مِن شَطوَتُرسي مِن الوُجود بِشَطخَلصت لِلحَياة مِن كُل قَيدوَمَشَت لِلزَمان في غَير شَرطكُلَّما اِهتاجَها الحَنين اِستَظَلَتبِحَبيبين مِن يَهود وَقبطوَهَبت لِلجَمال أَقدس عَقدمِن أَهازيجها وَأَكرَم قَرطوَأَفاضَت عَلى الصِبا آيات مِن النور في غَلائل خَطصابَها في الضُحى مرش مِن الطلعَلى آنف الحَدائق مبطىنَضَرتها يَد الرَبيع وَجالَتفي حَواشيها برفق وَضَغطهِيَ نَفسي مِن النَدى قَطراتلَم تَنلها يَد الزَمان بِخَلطهِيَ في صَفحة الشَباب قوى تَزخر بِالحُب أَو تَموج بِسَخطهِيَ قَسطي مِن السَماء فَما أَضــيع في العالم التُرابي قَسطيوَيح نَفسي تَنام مِن دُونِها الأَنــفـُس شَوطاً وَما تَهم بِشَوطأَخذ الَوم مِن يَدي وَأَعطىأَعيُناً لَم أَزَل مِن الصَحو أَعطيلَفَها اللَيل في يَديهِ بِأَضفىمعلم يَفصل البِطاح وَمَرطوَاِعتَلى في النُجوم فِاستكره الأَعيُن في سَمطها المَشت وَسَمطيأَنا وَالنَجم ساهِران نَعد الصُبــح خَيطا مِن الشعاع لِخيطكَم صَباح نَسَجتهُ أَنا وَالنجــم وَأَرسَلت شَمسه مِن محطيقُلت سِيري عَلى أُسرة قَوميوَاِستَحري عَلى مضاجع رَهطيأَنا جراءهم سَهرت لِيستغشوامِن أَجلِهم أَصيب وَأَخطي

    It is my soul, a radiance from God's heaven, crawling with the centuries and moving slowly; a wave like the sky, setting sail from a shore and mooring at a shore of existence. It broke free of every fetter for life's sake and journeyed into time without conditions. Whenever longing stirred it, it sought shade with two beloveds from among Jews and Copts. It gave beauty the holiest necklace of its chants and the noblest earring, and poured upon youth verses of light in gauzy robes of script. At forenoon a slow spray of dew fell upon it, upon the gardens' noses. Spring's hand refreshed it and wandered through its margins with gentleness and pressure. It is my soul: drops of dew that time's hand has not tainted. On youth's page it is strength, brimming with love or surging with wrath. It is my share of heaven—how lost my share is in this world of dust! Alas for my soul: other souls sleep for a stretch without it, while it does not even contemplate a stretch. [Sleep] was taken from my hand and given to eyes I have never ceased to endow with wakefulness. Night wrapped them in its two hands with the amplest embroidered cloth that divides the plains, and a cloak; and rose among the stars, resenting the eyes in their scattered necklace and in mine. The star and I stay awake, counting out the dawn, thread of radiance by thread. How many a morning the star and I have woven, and I have sent its sun forth from my station! I said: 'Go forth over my people's beds, and blaze fiercely upon my kinsfolk's sleeping places.' For their sake I kept vigil so they might wrap themselves in sleep; for their sake I hit the mark and miss.