وجيشِ كظَهرِ اليمِّ تَنْفُخُهُ الصَّبا

وجيشِ كظَهرِ اليمِّ تَنْفُخُهُ الصَّبا

يَعُبُّ عُبوباً من قَناً وقنابلِ

يَعُبُّ عُبوباً من قَناً وقنابلِ

And an army like the sea's surface, stirred by the east wind,

And an army like the back of the raging sea, blown by the morning breeze

Surging in waves of lances and squadrons.

Surging with waves, spears and missiles

فتنزلُ أُولاهُ وليسَ بنازلٍ

فتنزلُ أُولاهُ وليسَ بنازلٍ

وترْحلُ أُخراهُ وليسَ براحلِ

وترْحلُ أُخراهُ وليسَ براحلِ

So its vanguard encamps, yet the army is not encamped;

Whose vanguards attack though not to settle

And its rearguard departs, yet the army is not departing.

And whose rearguards march away though not to return

ومُعتَركٍ ضَنْكٍ تَعاطَتْ كُماتُهُ

ومُعتَركٍ ضَنْكٍ تَعاطَتْ كُماتُهُ

كؤوسَ دِماءٍ من كُلىً ومَفاصلِ

كؤوسَ دِماءٍ من كُلىً ومَفاصلِ

And a cramped battlefield, whose armored warriors exchanged

And a fierce, terrible battle whose strokes

Cups of blood from kidneys and joints.

Are goblets of blood from kidneys and joints

يديرونَها راحاً من الروحِ بينَهم

يديرونَها راحاً من الروحِ بينَهم

ببيضٍ رقاقٍ أو بِسُمْرٍ ذَوابِلِ

ببيضٍ رقاقٍ أو بِسُمْرٍ ذَوابِلِ

They pass them round among themselves as wine drawn from the soul,

They pass them leisurely among themselves

With thin white swords or slender brown spears.

On thin, white pages or with jet black messages

وتُسمِعُهُم أُمُّ المَنِيَّةِ وسْطَها

وتُسمِعُهُم أُمُّ المَنِيَّةِ وسْطَها

غناءَ صَليلِ البيضِ تحتَ المناصلِ

غناءَ صَليلِ البيضِ تحتَ المناصلِ

And Death's mother makes them hear, in her midst,

And in their midst the mother of death makes them hear

The song of white swords clanging beneath the blades.

The singing of the blades beneath the cleavers