ما لي إِلَيكَ سِوى النَسيم رَسولُ

ما لي إِلَيكَ سِوى النَسيم رَسولُ

يَحكي صَباباتِ الهَوى وَيَقولُ

يَحكي صَباباتِ الهَوى وَيَقولُ

I have no messenger to you but the breeze,

I have none but the breeze as messenger

It recounts love's ardent longings and speaks.

Telling tales of passion and saying:

مِن دونِ قُربِكَ لِلذوابِلِ مَشرَعٌ

مِن دونِ قُربِكَ لِلذوابِلِ مَشرَعٌ

وَالبيضُ وُردٌ وَالجِيادُ صَهيلُ

وَالبيضُ وُردٌ وَالجِيادُ صَهيلُ

Before I can draw near you lies a watering-place for slender spears,

Without your nearness wide are the folds

And white swords are rose-red, and steeds resound with neighing.

White are the roses and stallions neighing

كُلّي إِلَيكَ حشاشَةٌ مَقروحَةٌ

كُلّي إِلَيكَ حشاشَةٌ مَقروحَةٌ

ما تَنطَفي وَأن يَبَلَّ غَليلُ

ما تَنطَفي وَأن يَبَلَّ غَليلُ

My whole being, turned toward you, is a wounded spark of life,

All of me unto you is a wounded gazelle

That never goes out, even if burning thirst is quenched.

Unceasing though the suffering assail

أَيّامُ قُربِكَ لو تُباعُ شَرَيتُها

أَيّامُ قُربِكَ لو تُباعُ شَرَيتُها

بدمى وَذَلِكَ في هَواكَ قَليلُ

بدمى وَذَلِكَ في هَواكَ قَليلُ

Were the days of nearness to you for sale, I would buy them

Days of your company if sold would be

With my blood—and that, in love of you, is little.

For my blood, and that for your love is small

وَلَئِن تَقاصَرَ عَن هُنالِكَ ساعِدى

وَلَئِن تَقاصَرَ عَن هُنالِكَ ساعِدى

جَزَعاً فَلي أَسَفٌ عَلَيكَ طَويلُ

جَزَعاً فَلي أَسَفٌ عَلَيكَ طَويلُ

And even if my arm falls short of reaching there

If my arms fall short of reaching for you

Out of anguish, my sorrow for you is long.

In sorrow for you then would be prolonged

مَلَأَت مَحاسِنُكَ القُلوبَ فَلا حِمىً

مَلَأَت مَحاسِنُكَ القُلوبَ فَلا حِمىً

إِلّا وَفيهِ مِن هَواكَ قَتيلُ

إِلّا وَفيهِ مِن هَواكَ قَتيلُ

Your beauties have filled hearts; there is no sanctuary

Your beauty has filled hearts so no refuge

That does not hold someone slain by love of you.

Except in passion for you one is killed

بي كُلَّما حَدَّثتُ بِاِسمِكَ لَوعَةٌ

بي كُلَّما حَدَّثتُ بِاِسمِكَ لَوعَةٌ

ما بَينَ أَحناءِ الضُلوعِ تَجولُ

ما بَينَ أَحناءِ الضُلوعِ تَجولُ

Whenever I speak your name, a burning ache rises in me,

Whensoever your name passes my lips

Wandering between the curves of my ribs.

Between ribs a burning ache travels

سَمّوكَ مُعتَدِلَ القَوامِ لِعِلمِهِم

سَمّوكَ مُعتَدِلَ القَوامِ لِعِلمِهِم

أَن لا لِحُسنِكَ في الأَنامِ عَديلُ

أَن لا لِحُسنِكَ في الأَنامِ عَديلُ

They called you well-proportioned, for they knew

They named you of perfect stature knowing

That your beauty has no equal among humankind.

None can equal your beauty among all

وِبِمُهجَتي جذلان حُسن قَوامِهِ

وِبِمُهجَتي جذلان حُسن قَوامِهِ

وَرِضابُهُ العَسّالُ وَالمَعسولُ

وَرِضابُهُ العَسّالُ وَالمَعسولُ

And in my heart the beauty of his form rejoices,

With my love your handsome form and sweet lips

As does his nectar, honey-flowing and honey-sweet.

Rapture of honey and wine in a bowl

حَجَبوكَ عَنّي الشامِتونَ وَمادَروا

حَجَبوكَ عَنّي الشامِتونَ وَمادَروا

أَنَّ الحَشا لَكَ مَرتَعٌ وَمَقيلُ

أَنَّ الحَشا لَكَ مَرتَعٌ وَمَقيلُ

The gloaters hid you from me, and did not know

They hid you from me, the gloating ones, not knowing

That my heart is your pasture and your noonday resting-place.

For gazelles your meadows are refuge and rest

وَرَأَوكَ غايَةَ ما أُريدُ فَشَمَّروا

وَرَأَوكَ غايَةَ ما أُريدُ فَشَمَّروا

لِلبَينِ باعاً لا عَداهُ شلولُ

لِلبَينِ باعاً لا عَداهُ شلولُ

And they saw you were the goal of my desire, so bared

And finding you the utmost I desire

An arm to part us—may paralysis not spare it.

To parting they brought a seller of naught but sorrow