فُؤادٌa heart دَناdrew near مِنْهُto it الغَرامُpassion جَريحُwounded
فُؤادٌ دَنا مِنْهُ الغَرامُ جَريحُ
وَجَفْنٌand an eyelid نَأَىwent far away عَنْهُfrom it الرُّقادُsleep قَريحُsore
وَجَفْنٌ نَأَى عَنْهُ الرُّقادُ قَريحُ
A heart to which passion has drawn near is wounded,
A heart from which passion drew near, wounded,
And an eyelid from which sleep has fled is sore.
And an eyelid from which sleep stayed far, bleary.
فَلِلْوَجْدِso, for longing قَلْبِيmy heart وَالمَدامِعُand the tear ducts لِلْبُكاfor weeping
فَلِلْوَجْدِ قَلْبِي وَالمَدامِعُ لِلْبُكا
إِذاwhenever لاحَgleamed بَرْقٌlightning أَوْor تَنَفَّسَbreathed رِيحُa wind
إِذا لاحَ بَرْقٌ أَوْ تَنَفَّسَ رِيحُ
So my heart belongs to longing, and my tear ducts to weeping,
So my heart is for ardor and my tears for weeping,
Whenever lightning gleams or a wind breathes.
When lightning gleams or a breeze stirs.
أُكَلِّفُI bid عَيْنِيmy eye أَنْto تَجُودَgive generously بِمائِهاof its water
أُكَلِّفُ عَيْنِي أَنْ تَجُودَ بِمائِها
وَإِنِّيand indeed I بِهِwith it لولاwere it not for الهَوَىlove لَشَحيحُsurely stingy
وَإِنِّي بِهِ لولا الهَوَى لَشَحيحُ
I bid my eye to give freely of its water,
I task my eyes to pour forth their water,
And, but for love, I would indeed be sparing with it.
Though but for passion I would be stingy with it.
وَيَعْذُلُنيand he reproaches me خِلِّيmy friend وَيَزْعُمُand he claims أَنَّهُthat he
وَيَعْذُلُني خِلِّي وَيَزْعُمُ أَنَّهُ
نَصيحٌa sincere adviser وَهَلْand is there فيamong العاذِلينَthe reproachers نَصيحُa sincere adviser
نَصيحٌ وَهَلْ في العاذِلينَ نَصيحُ
My friend reproaches me and claims that he is
My friend reproaches me and claims to counsel me,
A sincere adviser—but is there a sincere adviser among reproachers?
Yet is there in censurers any counsel?
وَلَوْand if أَنْصَفَwere fair الواشُونَthe tale-bearers رَقِّwould feel pity لِذيfor one with الشّجىgrief
وَلَوْ أَنْصَفَ الواشُونَ رَقِّ لِذي الشّجى
خَلِيٌّone free of love ومَاand not لامَblamed السَّقيمَthe sick صَحيحُa healthy person
خَلِيٌّ ومَا لامَ السَّقيمَ صَحيحُ
And if the tale-bearers were fair, the grief-stricken would be pitied
If the critics were fair with the one racked by torment,
By one free of love, and no healthy man would blame the sick.
My friend, no sickness reproves the sound.
فَماthen why لِغُرابِwith the raven of البَيْنِparting يَنْعَبُit caws بَعْدَماafter
فَما لِغُرابِ البَيْنِ يَنْعَبُ بَعْدَما
أَتَتْcame دُونَbetween me and مَنْthe one whom أَهْوَىI love مَهامِهُdeserts فيحُvast
أَتَتْ دُونَ مَنْ أَهْوَى مَهامِهُ فيحُ
Why, then, does the raven of parting caw, now that
So why should the raven of estrangement croak after
Vast deserts have come between me and the one I love?
The loved ones' intents have come to him unsullied?
بِفيهِin its mouth الثَّرَىdust قدalready فَرَّقَتْhas separated بَيْنَناbetween us النَّوَىdistance
بِفيهِ الثَّرَى قد فَرَّقَتْ بَيْنَنا النَّوَى
نَأَىwent far away عَنْهُfrom it فَرخاهُits two chicks فَفيمَso why يَصيحُit cries out
نَأَى عَنْهُ فَرخاهُ فَفيمَ يَصيحُ
Dust in its mouth! Distance has already parted us;
In the earth their shrouds have parted us;
Its two chicks have gone far from it—why, then, does it cry out?
Each turned from the other’s fledgling. Why then cry out?
Sol 6.1