للهِ من جَفْنٍ هَمَلْنَ دُموعُهُ

للهِ من جَفْنٍ هَمَلْنَ دُموعُهُ

وجَريحِ قلبٍ لا يَقَرُّ وُلُوعُهُ

وجَريحِ قلبٍ لا يَقَرُّ وُلُوعُهُ

God, what an eyelid whose tears have streamed,

For God's sake, he whose tears have dried from weary eyelids,

and a wounded heart whose ardor finds no rest,

And a wounded heart that knows no rest or peace,

وكَئيبِ فكرٍ ذاهِلٍ عَبَثَ النَّوى

وكَئيبِ فكرٍ ذاهِلٍ عَبَثَ النَّوى

بشؤونِهِ وطَفَتْ عليه جُموعُهُ

بشؤونِهِ وطَفَتْ عليه جُموعُهُ

and a sorrowful, bewildered mind—separation has played havoc

And a melancholy mind, lost in vain thoughts,

with its affairs, and separation's hosts have floated over it,

As multitudes milled about his affairs,

وعَليلِ جسمٍ قد أُذيبَ تلَهُّفاً

وعَليلِ جسمٍ قد أُذيبَ تلَهُّفاً

لحِمًى تَريضُ العارِفينَ رُبُوعُهُ

لحِمًى تَريضُ العارِفينَ رُبُوعُهُ

and an ailing body that has been melted by longing

And a frail body, wasted by yearning,

for a sanctuary whose abodes school the gnostics!

Whose condition enlightened men pity,

يا من سَهِرْتُ لكُمْ بغَلْغَلَةِ الدُّجا

يا من سَهِرْتُ لكُمْ بغَلْغَلَةِ الدُّجا

حتَّى من الفجرِ اسْتَفاضَ طُلُوعُهُ

حتَّى من الفجرِ اسْتَفاضَ طُلُوعُهُ

O you for whom I kept vigil in the depths of darkness,

O you whom I kept vigil for in the darkness of night

until dawn's rising spread far and wide.

Until the dawn rose in its glory,

وبكيْتُ أَشْجاناً لطلعَةِ بدركُمْ

وبكيْتُ أَشْجاناً لطلعَةِ بدركُمْ

يومي وحُنْدُسُهُ نُشِرْنَ فرُوعُهُ

يومي وحُنْدُسُهُ نُشِرْنَ فرُوعُهُ

And I wept in sorrow for the appearance of your full moon,

And I wept ardently for the rising of your moon,

through my day and its deep gloom, with its branches unfurled.

As it emerged, its branches spread,

وذَهِلْتُ لا نُطقي تُدارُ حُروفُهُ

وذَهِلْتُ لا نُطقي تُدارُ حُروفُهُ

بفَمي ولا صوتي يَجولُ شُرُوعُهُ

بفَمي ولا صوتي يَجولُ شُرُوعُهُ

And I was dazed: no letters of my speech were set in motion

And I was struck dumb, my words jumbled in my mouth,

in my mouth, nor did my voice's onset stir.

My voice muted, lacking eloquence,

شيءٌ ولكنْ لم يُرَ منظورُهُ

شيءٌ ولكنْ لم يُرَ منظورُهُ

حُزناً ولم يُسْمَعْ جَوًى مَسْمُوعُهُ

حُزناً ولم يُسْمَعْ جَوًى مَسْمُوعُهُ

A being—yet his visible form has not been seen

A thing, yet nothing seen of it,

in sorrow, nor has his sound been heard in burning anguish.

Grief, yet no murmur heard,

قد دَقَّ عن نسجِ الخَيالِ وفوقَ ما

قد دَقَّ عن نسجِ الخَيالِ وفوقَ ما

في النَّارِ حرًّا ما تُكِنُّ ضُلُوعُهُ

في النَّارِ حرًّا ما تُكِنُّ ضُلُوعُهُ

He has grown too subtle for imagination's weave; and beyond what

It transcends the creations of imagination, and above

fire holds in heat is what his ribs conceal.

What fire contains, though bones be ashes,

عَجَباً هل الأيَّامُ ترحَمُ حَنَّهُ

عَجَباً هل الأيَّامُ ترحَمُ حَنَّهُ

وهِلالُكُمْ يُجلى إليه سُطُوعُهُ

وهِلالُكُمْ يُجلى إليه سُطُوعُهُ

How strange! Will the days have mercy on his yearning,

Amazingly, do days show mercy for his grief?

and your crescent's brilliance be unveiled to him,

Does your crescent shine its light on him?

ويَلوحُ في سُجُفِ الجَلالِ مُقَنَّعاً

ويَلوحُ في سُجُفِ الجَلالِ مُقَنَّعاً

وعليه من بُرْدِ الجَمالِ دُرُوعُهُ

وعليه من بُرْدِ الجَمالِ دُرُوعُهُ

and will it shine, veiled, amid majesty's curtains,

Does it gleam, veiled in majestic gloom,

wearing its armor of beauty's mantle,

Clad in the mail of beauty?

ليعودَ ميِّتُكُمْ بلمعَةِ أُنسِهِ

ليعودَ ميِّتُكُمْ بلمعَةِ أُنسِهِ

حَيًّا ويُحْيي العاشِقينَ رُجُوعُهُ

حَيًّا ويُحْيي العاشِقينَ رُجُوعُهُ

so that your dead one may return, by a gleam of its intimacy,

Will your deceased return to life by the grace of intimacy,

alive, and its return revive the lovers?

And by his return bring lovers back to life?