رَمَتني غَداةَ الخَيفِ لَيلى بِنَظرَةٍ

رَمَتني غَداةَ الخَيفِ لَيلى بِنَظرَةٍ

عَلى خَفَرٍ وَالعيسُ صُعْرٌ خُدودُها

عَلى خَفَرٍ وَالعيسُ صُعْرٌ خُدودُها

In the morning at al-Khayf, Layla struck me with a glance,

One morning as dawn was breaking, Layla glanced at me

Bashfully, while the pale camels’ cheeks were turned aside.

Over the edge of her veil, while the Pleiades faded;

فَما لاذَ مَن نالتهُ إِلّا بِمَدمَعٍ

فَما لاذَ مَن نالتهُ إِلّا بِمَدمَعٍ

يُحاكي بِجَفنَيهِ الدُّموعَ عُقودُها

يُحاكي بِجَفنَيهِ الدُّموعَ عُقودُها

So whoever it struck sought refuge only in a tearful eye,

None escape when she turns her gaze on them, save with plenteous tears

Where her necklaces mirrored the tears upon his eyelids.

That mirror, with their flowing, the necklaces round her throat.

وَأَذرت بِجَمعٍ فالمُحَصِّبِ عَبرَةً

وَأَذرت بِجَمعٍ فالمُحَصِّبِ عَبرَةً

فَظَلَّتْ بِأَطرافِ البَنانِ تَذودُها

فَظَلَّتْ بِأَطرافِ البَنانِ تَذودُها

And she shed a tear at Jamʿ, then at al-Muḥaṣṣib,

She left in haste, and the look of reproach that she gave me

So she kept brushing it away with her fingertips.

Was enough – she moved slowly away, hemmed in by the crowds.

مِنَ البيضِ لَم تَعرِف سِوى البُخلِ شيمَةً

مِنَ البيضِ لَم تَعرِف سِوى البُخلِ شيمَةً

وَلَم يُرجَ إِلّا بِالأَحاديثِ جودُها

وَلَم يُرجَ إِلّا بِالأَحاديثِ جودُها

One of the fair-skinned women, she knew no trait but stinginess,

With her skin so fair she knows nothing of liberality’s ways;

And her generosity was hoped for only in conversation.

Her talk is only of trivialities, nothing profound.

شَكَت سَقَماً أَلحاظُها وَهي صِحَّةٌ

شَكَت سَقَماً أَلحاظُها وَهي صِحَّةٌ

فَلَستُ أَرى إِلّا القُلوبَ تَعودُها

فَلَستُ أَرى إِلّا القُلوبَ تَعودُها

Her glances complained of sickness, though they were health itself;

She complained of sickness, but she is healthy enough;

Yet I see only hearts visiting them.

I see only hearts that sigh over whatever she does.