بِأَبيwith my father as ransom أَهيَفَa slender youth مَعشوقَadored العِذارِthe cheek-down
بِأَبي أَهيَفَ مَعشوقَ العِذارِ
طابَwas delightful ليto me فيin حُبِّهِlove for him خَلعُcasting off العِذارِthe bridle
طابَ لي في حُبِّهِ خَلعُ العِذارِ
May my father ransom a slender one whose cheek-down is adored.
May my father be ransom for a slender youth whose cheek-down is adored.
For love of him, casting off restraint became sweet to me.
In loving him, I found delight in casting off the bridle.
جُلُّmost of ناريmy fire مِنfrom جَنىthe fruit of وَجنَتَيهِhis two cheeks
جُلُّ ناري مِن جَنى وَجنَتَيهِ
لَيتَهُwould that it يُطفىwere quenched بِلَثمِby kissing الجُلَّنارِthe pomegranate blossoms
لَيتَهُ يُطفى بِلَثمِ الجُلَّنارِ
Most of my fire comes from the fruit of his two cheeks.
Most of my fire comes from the fruit of his cheeks.
Would that it might be quenched by kissing the pomegranate blossom.
Would that it were quenched by kissing the pomegranate blossoms.
بابِلِيُّBabylonian اللَحظِthe gaze مَعسولُhoney-sweet اللَمىthe lips’ dusky hue
بابِلِيُّ اللَحظِ مَعسولُ اللَمى
عاصَرَتwere coeval with أَنفاسُهُhis breaths صِرفَunmixed العُقارِthe wine
عاصَرَت أَنفاسُهُ صِرفَ العُقارِ
Babylonian is his glance; honeyed, the dusky hue of his lips.
His gaze is Babylonian, his dusky lips honey-sweet.
His breaths vie with pure, unmixed wine.
His breaths were coeval with unmixed wine.
وَجهُهُhis face كَالشَمسِlike the sun وَالفَرعُand the hair الضُحىthe morning light
وَجهُهُ كَالشَمسِ وَالفَرعُ الضُحى
عانَقَembraced اللَيلُthe night بِهِin him شَمسَthe sun of النَهارِthe day
عانَقَ اللَيلُ بِهِ شَمسَ النَهارِ
His face is like the sun, and his tresses are forenoon’s radiance.
His face is like the sun, and his hair is the morning light.
In him, night embraced the daytime sun.
In him, night embraced the sun of day.
عَجَباًhow strange! إِذwhen لَمnot أَذُقI tasted ريقَتَهُhis saliva
عَجَباً إِذ لَم أَذُق ريقَتَهُ
وَفُؤاديand my heart يَشتَكيcomplains of داءَthe sickness of الخُمارِthe hangover
وَفُؤادي يَشتَكي داءَ الخُمارِ
How strange: I have not tasted his saliva,
How strange, when I have not tasted his saliva,
yet my heart complains of the sickness of a hangover.
yet my heart complains of the sickness of a hangover.
Sol 6.1