أوْدَىbrought ruin بِقَلْبِكَto your heart صَدْعٌa rift لَيْسَnot يَلْتَئِمُheal
أوْدَى بِقَلْبِكَ صَدْعٌ لَيْسَ يَلْتَئِمُ
وخانَand betrayed صَبْرَكَyour patience دَمْعٌtears ليسَnot ينكَتِمُstay concealed
وخانَ صَبْرَكَ دَمْعٌ ليسَ ينكَتِمُ
A rift has laid your heart waste—a rift that will not heal;
A rift that will not heal has destroyed your heart.
a tear that will not stay hidden has betrayed your patience.
And tears that will not stay hidden have betrayed your patience.
فصارَمُوكَso they broke with you حِذاراًfor fear أنْthat تَنِمَّyou tell tales بِهمْabout them
فصارَمُوكَ حِذاراً أنْ تَنِمَّ بِهمْ
وماand what انْتِفاعُكَyour benefit بالدُّنياfrom the world إذاwhen صَرَمُواthey severed ties
وما انْتِفاعُكَ بالدُّنيا إذا صَرَمُوا
So they broke with you, fearing you might betray their secrets;
So they broke with you, fearing you might betray their secret.
what use is the world to you when they have cut you off—
And what good is the world to you when they sever ties?
أحْبابَO beloveds قَلْبِيَof my heart والأسْقامُand ailments تُقْعِدُنيlay me low
أحْبابَ قَلْبِيَ والأسْقامُ تُقْعِدُني
ولَستُand I am not مِمَّنamong those who مَداهُhis reach فيin الهَوىlove أَمَمُshort
ولَستُ مِمَّن مَداهُ في الهَوى أَمَمُ
your heart’s beloveds—while illnesses lay me low?
O beloveds of my heart, ailments lay me low,
I am not one whose journey in love has any near end.
yet I am not one whose reach in love is short.
هَلcan تُستعادُbe restored لَياليناour nights الَّتيthat سَلَفتْhave passed
هَل تُستعادُ لَيالينا الَّتي سَلَفتْ
أوor تُستَجدُّbe renewed بِكُمْwith you أيَّامُناour days القُدمُof old
أو تُستَجدُّ بِكُمْ أيَّامُنا القُدمُ
Can those nights of ours that passed away be restored,
Can our bygone nights be restored,
or, with you, can our days of old be renewed—
or can our days of old be renewed with you—
إذْwhen مَعْطِفيmy side للصِّباtoward youthful passion لَدْنُsupple المهزَّةِthe sway لاnot
إذْ مَعْطِفي للصِّبا لَدْنُ المهزَّةِ لا
يَزالُceases تجذِبُهُdraw it الآدابُrefinement والكَرمُand generosity
يَزالُ تجذِبُهُ الآدابُ والكَرمُ
when my youthful nature was supple to every stirring,
when my frame was supple in its sway toward youthful passion, never
ever drawn by refinement and nobility?
ceasing to be drawn by refinement and generosity?
عُهودُseasons أُنسٍcompanionship تَقضَّاهاspent them الزَّمانُTime رِضىًin contentment
عُهودُ أُنسٍ تَقضَّاها الزَّمانُ رِضىً
كأنَّهاas though they were فيin حَواشيthe edges بُرْدِهِof his cloak علَمُan ornamental stripe
كأنَّها في حَواشي بُرْدِهِ علَمُ
Seasons of fellowship that Time brought to their close in happiness,
Seasons of companionship that Time spent contentedly,
as though they were an embroidered border on the hem of his robe.
as though they were an ornamental stripe along the edges of his cloak.
مرَّتthey passed كماlike السُّحْبُclouds لوif لَمْnot يَبْقَremain فيin كَبِديmy liver
مرَّت كما السُّحْبُ لو لَمْ يَبْقَ في كَبِدي
مِنْfrom بارِقاتflashes أمانيhopes عَوْدِهاtheir return ضَرَمُa blaze
مِنْ بارِقات أماني عَوْدِها ضَرَمُ
They would have passed like clouds, had there not remained within my heart
They would have passed like clouds, had there not remained in my liver
a blaze from the lightning-flashes of hopes for their return.
a blaze from the flashes of hopes for their return.
لَئِنeven if نَسُوهاthey forgot them عُهوداًtimes كُرِّمَتْwere honored لَهُمُfor them
لَئِن نَسُوها عُهوداً كُرِّمَتْ لَهُمُ
حَديثُtopic of speech سِرِّيmy private speech وجَهْريand my public speech فيamong الأنامِhumankind هُمُthey
حَديثُ سِرِّي وجَهْري في الأنامِ هُمُ
Though they forgot them, those covenants were held sacred for their sake;
Even if they have forgotten them—times cherished for their sake—
they are the theme of my secret and public speech among humankind.
they are the subject of my private and public speech among humankind.
ماwhat ضَرَّهْمharmed them وبِصَدْريwhile in my breast للأسَىfrom grief حُرَقٌburning pangs
ما ضَرَّهْم وبِصَدْري للأسَى حُرَقٌ
لوif أنهمthat they بسرورٍwith joy منهمُfrom them رحمواshowed mercy
لو أنهم بسرورٍ منهمُ رحموا
What harm would it have done them—while fires of sorrow burn in my breast—
What harm would it do them, with grief's burning pangs in my breast,
to have pitied the joy I take in them?
if they showed mercy by granting me joy?
Sol 6.1