وَمُهَفْهَفٍ عنّى يَميلُ وَلَمْ يَمِلْ

وَمُهَفْهَفٍ عنّى يَميلُ وَلَمْ يَمِلْ

يَوماَ إليَّ فَقلْتُ مِن فَرْطِ الجَوَى

يَوماَ إليَّ فَقلْتُ مِن فَرْطِ الجَوَى

And a slender beloved turns away from me, and has never turned

Swaying gently away from me, never swaying

Toward me even once; so, overwhelmed by love’s anguish, I said:

Towards me, one day when longing overcame me,

لِمْ لا تَميِلُ إليَّ يَا غُصْنَ النَّقَا

لِمْ لا تَميِلُ إليَّ يَا غُصْنَ النَّقَا

فَأَجابَ كَيفَ وأَنتَ مِن قَتْلَى الهَوَى

فَأَجابَ كَيفَ وأَنتَ مِن قَتْلَى الهَوَى

“Why do you not incline toward me, O bough of the sand dune?”

I said “Why do you not sway towards me, O branch of beauty?”

He replied, “How could I, when you are among those slain by love?”

It replied “How could I, when you are one slain by love?”