بِلَيْلon a night of كَانُونٍKānūn عَرَفْتُI knew الْجَوَىlove's burning anguish
بِلَيْل كَانُونٍ عَرَفْتُ الْجَوَى
لَوْلاَwere it not for صَبَاan east wind لَكَفَّit would have desisted مِنْfrom ظَلْمِهِits oppression
لَوْلاَ صَبَا لَكَفَّ مِنْ ظَلْمِهِ
On a night of Kānūn, I knew love's burning anguish.
In a December night I felt the passion,
But for the east wind, it would have ceased its oppression.
Were it not for the morning breeze, its darkness would prevail,
طَالَlasted long بِهِthrough it نَفْحُthe wafting of نَسِيمِthe breeze of الصَّبَاthe east wind
طَالَ بِهِ نَفْحُ نَسِيمِ الصَّبَا
فَاشتَعَلَso blazed الإِصْبَاحُdawn فِيin فَحْمِهِits charcoal
فَاشتَعَلَ الإِصْبَاحُ فِي فَحْمِهِ
The east wind's breeze wafted through it for long,
The morning breeze blew on it,
so dawn blazed in its charcoal.
And the dawn was kindled amidst its ashes.
Sol 6.1