حَسَدتُ كِتابي عَلى فَوزِهِ

حَسَدتُ كِتابي عَلى فَوزِهِ

بإِبصارهِ الغُرّةَ الزاهِرَهْ

بإِبصارهِ الغُرّةَ الزاهِرَهْ

I envied my letter its good fortune

My books I envied for their joyous fate -

in beholding the radiant brow.

To glimpse your sparkling youth so fair,

فَيالَيت شَخصي يَكون الكِتاب

فَيالَيت شَخصي يَكون الكِتاب

فَتلحَظُهُ المُقلَةُ الساحِرَهْ

فَتلحَظُهُ المُقلَةُ الساحِرَهْ

So, if only I myself could be the letter,

Would that my being were those books, then

so the enchanting eye would gaze upon it.

Your magic eyes would rest on me somewhere.