بَوارِقُ لِلحابِ لا لِلسَحابِ

بَوارِقُ لِلحابِ لا لِلسَحابِ

طَرِبتَ إِلى ضَوءِ لَمّاحِها

طَرِبتَ إِلى ضَوءِ لَمّاحِها

Flashes of wine, not of clouds—

Beacons for the beloved, not for the clouds,

You thrilled to the light of its flashing bolt.

You were lured by the glow of her lantern.

أَرى الخَمرَ تَجمَعُ بِالشارِبَينِ

أَرى الخَمرَ تَجمَعُ بِالشارِبَينِ

فَلا تُخدَعَنَّ بِإِسماحِها

فَلا تُخدَعَنَّ بِإِسماحِها

I see wine bolt away with those who drink it;

I see the wine brings together the drinkers,

So never be deceived by its docility.

So do not be fooled by her leniency.

وَكَم طَمِحتُ بِاللَبيبِ الأَريبِ

وَكَم طَمِحتُ بِاللَبيبِ الأَريبِ

فَأُسقِطَ عَن ظَهرِ طَمّاحِها

فَأُسقِطَ عَن ظَهرِ طَمّاحِها

And how often I reared up with the wise, discerning man,

And how much I craved for the sly beloved,

So he was thrown from the back of its bolting steed.

Yet she cast me off like an old shoe.

وَلَيسَ الزُجاجُ زُجاجَ الخَطوبِ

وَلَيسَ الزُجاجُ زُجاجَ الخَطوبِ

وَلَكِن أَسِنَّةُ أَرماحِها

وَلَكِن أَسِنَّةُ أَرماحِها

And the glassware is not the spear-butts of calamities,

Glass is not for writing misfortunes,

But the sharp points of their lances.

But it holds the tips of her sharp spears.