ما هُوَ إِلّا الحِمى وَأَيّامُهُ

ما هُوَ إِلّا الحِمى وَأَيّامُهُ

حَديثُ أَفكارِهِ وَأَحلامُهُ

حَديثُ أَفكارِهِ وَأَحلامُهُ

Nothing but the sanctuary and its days

It is nothing but his fever and its days

Is the subject of his thoughts and dreams.

The talk of his thoughts and his dreams

يَبكي لَهُ قَلبُهُ وَناظِرُه

يَبكي لَهُ قَلبُهُ وَناظِرُه

وَبِالَّذي تَستَمِدُّ أَقلامُهُ

وَبِالَّذي تَستَمِدُّ أَقلامُهُ

His heart and his eye weep for it,

His heart and his eyes weep for him

And he weeps with the ink his pens draw.

And for what his pens derive

لِلَهِ لَيلٌ هُناكَ أَوحَشَني

لِلَهِ لَيلٌ هُناكَ أَوحَشَني

وَلا كَما أَوحَشَتهُ نُوّامُهُ

وَلا كَما أَوحَشَتهُ نُوّامُهُ

God, what a night there—it left me desolate,

For God, a night there made me lonely

Though not as desolate as its sleepers left it.

Not as his sleepers made him lonely

قَد كانَ يَبكي لِليَومِ عَنهُ خَلا

قَد كانَ يَبكي لِليَومِ عَنهُ خَلا

كَيفَ بِهِ بَعدَ ما خَلا عامُهُ

كَيفَ بِهِ بَعدَ ما خَلا عامُهُ

He used to weep for the day that had left him;

He used to weep for the day he was absent from

How fares he now that his year has passed?

How about him after his year passed by