حَكاهُ مِنَ الغُصنِ الرَطيبِ وَريقُهُ

حَكاهُ مِنَ الغُصنِ الرَطيبِ وَريقُهُ

وَما الخَمرُ إِلّا مُقلَتاهُ وَريقُهُ

وَما الخَمرُ إِلّا مُقلَتاهُ وَريقُهُ

The leafy shoot of the tender bough resembled him;

Its tale he told from the moist branch, and its saliva,

and wine is nothing but his two eyes and his saliva.

Yet wine is naught but its tale and saliva.

هِلالٌ وَلَكِن أُفقُ قَلبي مَحَلُّهُ

هِلالٌ وَلَكِن أُفقُ قَلبي مَحَلُّهُ

غَزالٌ وَلَكِن سَفحُ عَيني عَقيقُهُ

غَزالٌ وَلَكِن سَفحُ عَيني عَقيقُهُ

A crescent, yet the horizon of my heart is his dwelling;

A crescent moon, but the horizon of my heart is its place,

a gazelle, yet the stream from my eye is his ʿAqīq valley.

A gazelle, but the plain of my eye is its pasture.

أَقرّ لَهُ من كُلِّ حُسنٍ جَليلُهُ

أَقرّ لَهُ من كُلِّ حُسنٍ جَليلُهُ

وَوافَقَهُ مِن كُلِّ مَعنىً دَقيقُهُ

وَوافَقَهُ مِن كُلِّ مَعنىً دَقيقُهُ

The grandeur of every beauty yielded to him,

I bestowed on it the best of every beautiful thing,

and the subtlety of every grace accorded with him.

And matched it with the subtlest of every meaning.

بَديعُ التَثَنّي راحَ قَلبي أَسيرُهُ

بَديعُ التَثَنّي راحَ قَلبي أَسيرُهُ

عَلى أَنَّ دَمعي في الغَرامِ طَليقُهُ

عَلى أَنَّ دَمعي في الغَرامِ طَليقُهُ

Wondrous in his swaying—my heart became his captive,

The excellent in repetition set out, my heart its captive,

though in passion my tears are freed by him.

Despite my tear in passion being set loose.

عَلى سالِفَيهِ لِلعِذارِ جَديدُهُ

عَلى سالِفَيهِ لِلعِذارِ جَديدُهُ

وَفي شَفَتَيهِ لِلسُلافِ عَتيقُهُ

وَفي شَفَتَيهِ لِلسُلافِ عَتيقُهُ

On both sides of his face the down is newly grown,

Upon his front teeth, new for flirtation,

and in his lips is the aged vintage of choice wine.

And in his lips, aged for kissing.

وَأَسمَرَ يَحكي الأَسمَرَ اللَدنَ قَدُّهُ

وَأَسمَرَ يَحكي الأَسمَرَ اللَدنَ قَدُّهُ

وَخَدٌّ شَقا قَلبَ المُحِبُّ شَقيقُهُ

وَخَدٌّ شَقا قَلبَ المُحِبُّ شَقيقُهُ

And a tawny youth whose stature mirrors the supple brown spear,

The brown-skinned one tells of habitual brownness,

and a cheek whose anemone bloom torments the lover’s heart.

And a cheek split, breaking the heart of his lover.

مِنَ التركِ لا يُصبيهِ شَوقٌ إِلى الحمى

مِنَ التركِ لا يُصبيهِ شَوقٌ إِلى الحمى

وَلا ذِكرُ باناتِ الغُوَيرِ يَشوقُهُ

وَلا ذِكرُ باناتِ الغُوَيرِ يَشوقُهُ

A Turk: no longing for the protected pastures beguiles him,

Of the Turks, no longing for truce anxieties him,

nor does mention of al-Ghuwayr’s bān trees stir his yearning.

Nor memory of the abodes of Ghuwair desires him.

عَلى خَدِّهِ جَمرٌ مِنَ الحُسنِ مُضرَمٌ

عَلى خَدِّهِ جَمرٌ مِنَ الحُسنِ مُضرَمٌ

يَشُبُّ وَلَكِن في فُؤادي حَريقُهُ

يَشُبُّ وَلَكِن في فُؤادي حَريقُهُ

On his cheek an ember of beauty is kindled;

Upon his cheek a flame of beauty kindled,

it blazes, yet its burning is within my heart.

It grows, but in my heart its burning.

إِذا خَفَقَ البَرقُ اليَماني موهِناً

إِذا خَفَقَ البَرقُ اليَماني موهِناً

تَذَكَّرتُهُ فَاِعتادَ قَلبي خُفوقُهُ

تَذَكَّرتُهُ فَاِعتادَ قَلبي خُفوقُهُ

When the Yemeni lightning flickers late at night,

If the Yemeni lightning pulsates meekly,

I remember him, and my heart resumes its fluttering.

I remember it, so my heart starts pounding.

حَكى وَجهُهُ بَدرَ السَماءِ فَلَو بَدا

حَكى وَجهُهُ بَدرَ السَماءِ فَلَو بَدا

مَعَ البَدرِ قالَ الناسُ هَذا شَقيقُهُ

مَعَ البَدرِ قالَ الناسُ هَذا شَقيقُهُ

His face mirrored the sky’s full moon; were he to appear

His face tells of the full moon in the sky, so if it appeared

beside the full moon, people would say, ‘This is its brother.’

With the moon, people would say “this is its counterpart.”

على مثله يستسنُ الصبُّ هتكه

على مثله يستسنُ الصبُّ هتكه

وفي مثلِه يجفو الصديقُ صديقه

وفي مثلِه يجفو الصديقُ صديقه

For one like him, the lovesick lover deems his own disgrace a virtue,

For his like, passion violates propriety,

and over one like him, a friend shuns his friend.

And for his like, a friend breaks faith with his friend.

أَرى الناسَ أَضحوا جاهِلِيّةَ ورده

أَرى الناسَ أَضحوا جاهِلِيّةَ ورده

فَما بالَهُ مِن كَلِّ صَبٍّ يَعوقُهُ

فَما بالَهُ مِن كَلِّ صَبٍّ يَعوقُهُ

I see people have become pagan worshippers of his rose;

I see people have become the ignorance of his wild rose,

why, then, does he withhold it from every lovesick lover?

What's with him that bars every passionate lover?

وَلِلَهِ قَلبي ما أَشَدُّ عَفافَهُ

وَلِلَهِ قَلبي ما أَشَدُّ عَفافَهُ

وَإِن كانَ طَرفي مُستَمِرّاً فُسوقُهُ

وَإِن كانَ طَرفي مُستَمِرّاً فُسوقُهُ

And God bless my heart—how great its chastity,

By God, my heart - how great is its chastity!

though my eye’s transgression never ceases.

And if my glance persists in debauchery.

فَما فازَ إِلّا مَن يَبيتُ صَباحُهُ

فَما فازَ إِلّا مَن يَبيتُ صَباحُهُ

شَرابُ ثناياهُ وَمِنها غَبوقُهُ

شَرابُ ثناياهُ وَمِنها غَبوقُهُ

For none has won but he who spends the night, his morning draught

So none triumphs but he whose morning

the drink from his front teeth, and from them his evening draught.

Is the drink of its folds, and from them his ardour.