1. Is there any delight but for their tents to appear,
And my camel's reins bid them farewell?

2. I stood weeping while my camel complained,
And my horses neighed, calling the doves.

3. Had the leaves wept their sorrows,
My eyes would erase their gathered circles.

4. In my heart I seek God's forgiveness for my sin,
For a coolness whose covering is folded over it,

5. A coolness whose drinking makes the soul crave more,
So strange is the sin which, when sated

6. With sweet drink, grows ever more thirsty,
As if after a deep sleep, in its slumber,

7. A sip of limpid wine which intoxicates it,
And its scent and breath mingle,

8. Like a sealed bottle freshly opened.
I'll not forget the day when her tears fell

9. And the pearls of her cheeks met as twins.
She smiled, her mouth like a necklace

10. Of strung pearls in carnelian perfectly aligned.
And she scattered the pearls of her reproach,

11. Whose sweet blame was music to my ears.
I knew not which was lovelier,

12. Her tears, her mouth, or her words?
When she departed, it was as if

13. The veil of sunlight at noon was lifted.
Wherever her rising shines, its light

14. Foretells the brilliance of her beauty's dawn.
She tossed her staff into meadows as though

15. Parting sweet musk's coverlet.
Her laughing face shone like sun on meadows,

16. Its smile radiating the morn's joy and smiles.
I looked - two eyes gazed back; one flowed

17. With tears while in the other burned a coal.
I saw no eye but the sickness of its lids

18. And the health of the gazelle's eyes was illness.
My friend, does my greeting reach her with the specter,

19. As hers reaches me each morn?
On a pitch black night she came stealthily,

20. Not departing until her darkness lifted.
Weak, in deep gloom - the night was endless,

21. As she described by her stature and figure.
The specter saw in me a wakeful, modest soul,

22. Rising for virtue's sake though time for rest.
If my luck is the phantom came,

23. Her distance and presence are equal to me.
Of what use is it if home gathers us,

24. When her goal is difficult wherever she turns?
Gentle lady, take pity on a lover's heart

25. Tormented by your distance and his passion.
Yours is bounty; be generous with your beauty

26. Which flows like a summer cloud, lasting not.
Beauty is brief - take action before it fades

27. And its features turn to dust.
I see the soul make passion lawful, though it dooms

28. Can the heart of a dove find sweetness in it?
By your life! 'Isa melted my resolve;

29. After glory, all is decline.
She races the meadows' poles as though

30. A bow, though men are its arrows.
If her braids were bound up with her headband,

31. They would hang over her waist as a belt.
We came to her, each curve straightened, as though

32. The quivers were attached to the lance points.
As if, in the plain, the poem's bayt calls me,

33. Its rhythms and verses beckon.
Until we reached Hasan's palm, it brought safety

34. From need's harm and embarrassing poverty.
Then goodness flowed freely from the son of Mufarraj,

35. The King who gives his carpet before its time.
The prostration of kings beneath it, standing over them -

36. If you kiss his feet and palm you've gained great fortune.
From afar, if you see him, hope springs;

37. If not, though absent, it leaps in spirit.
The crowns of kings clash at his door,

38. And greetings abound on his day of peace.
A tribe of youths raised him to highest rank,

39. Their dark-skinned boy was a cub among men.
They are lions, yet give towns to those who visit them;

40. While lions hoard their food for themselves.
When his children cry the faces of the exalted smile,

41. And the frown of gravity dissolves.
They mix jewels with sublime things for the child,

42. And he is nurtured on them, his meat and bones.
If after a time they wean their children,

43. Still, it’s from jewels, not the sublime, they wean.
A whip to the back of the cruel, if the words

44. Of enemies flow with blood, and words with blood.
Their tresses are their coats of mail, their hearing

45. The neighing of meadows, and blood their wine.
Death lingers where their swords linger,

46. And gifts remain where their tents remain.
Good fortune belongs entirely to those they favor,

47. And misfortune to those from whom they take vengeance.
Their greatest fault is frightening

48. The abased guest with their swords.
Indeed, the House of Makkah for glory

49. Is its corner, and Hasan its standing place.
With the Supporter of God's Faith his triumph grows,

50. As over all kings he rules supreme.
Remote is the reach of his open hand, which gathers

51. Only finest pearls, not rough stones.
If the clouds had the bounty of his right hand,

52. They would shower hopes upon souls.
If the moons had his forehead's light,

53. Theirs would never fade or diminish.
Unconcerned with building, his right palm,

54. If occupied with swords, still rains with bounty.
A soul disposed toward glory,

55. And a spirit attuned to the heights.
When war blackens, his sword shines bright,

56. Or else, from it pours darkness.
With a band like this, necks and pillars

57. Of the lofty, their weapons props.
Spear hafts bow before each heart,

58. And the blades lead in prayer.
Their swords roar loud as quarreling foes

59. Though only souls within clash.
In the ribs' end their points judge,

60. And through dense bone they pierce.
Some emeralds above jewels as though

61. Sealed rings on the fingers pressed together.
Others, split emeralds, as if

62. Chips fly from the fingertips.
When his flags rise against his enemies,

63. It’s no wonder they retreat and flee.
You have bound Qahtan's father to eternal glory,

64. A bond that does not fear breaking.
Swords were shrouded but I honed them,

65. Blows scattered their rust and grime.
If they faced barrenness, you were its spring,

66. And if they waged war, you were its sword.
Boasting of your memory was their pride;

67. Your bounty was their honor.
Small are the lands and peoples of the world for you -

68. What more could you want of Syria?
Journey and conquer, for its kings

69. Fall short of you, their complement.
Except that the Emir's traits are jewels,

70. And my praise a threading of them.
My soul has reached you - if it has a share

71. In wealth, then this is the year for it.