ما بالُ قَلبِك لا يَزالُ مُولَّها

ما بالُ قَلبِك لا يَزالُ مُولَّها

لا الحلمُ يردعُه الغداةَ ولا النُهى

لا الحلمُ يردعُه الغداةَ ولا النُهى

What ails your heart, that it remains bewildered by love?

Why does your heart still yearn for her

Neither self-restraint checks it this morning, nor reason.

Neither dreams hold it back at dawn, nor admonition

أَأَعادَ عيدَ غرامه طيرٌ شَدا

أَأَعادَ عيدَ غرامه طيرٌ شَدا

فَغَدا يحنُّ إِلى زَمانٍ قد زَها

فَغَدا يحنُّ إِلى زَمانٍ قد زَها

Did a singing bird revive the festival of its passion,

Did a returning bird revive its passion

So it began yearning for a time that once flourished?

That it now longs for a time long past

ما زادَه اللاحون عذلاً في الهَوى

ما زادَه اللاحون عذلاً في الهَوى

إِلّا وَزادَ تولُّعاً وتولُّها

إِلّا وَزادَ تولُّعاً وتولُّها

The reproachers never heaped more blame on it for love

The blamers only increased its love sickness

Without its growing in ardor and bewilderment,

Its yearning, grief, anguish, and suffering

وتوجُّعاً وتحزُّناً وتَملمُلاً

وتوجُّعاً وتحزُّناً وتَملمُلاً

وَتشوُّقاً وتحرُّقاً وتأَوُّها

وَتشوُّقاً وتحرُّقاً وتأَوُّها

And in pain, sorrow, and restlessness,

Its longing, burning, and sighing

And in longing, burning anguish, and sighs.

You are not the first to leave home

ما أَنتَ أَوَّل من نأى عن دارِه

ما أَنتَ أَوَّل من نأى عن دارِه

وَرَمَت به أَيدي النَوى فتدلَّها

وَرَمَت به أَيدي النَوى فتدلَّها

You are not the first to go far from his home,

And be led away by the hands of fate

And be cast away by separation's hands, becoming distraught.

It is time your passion was consoled

قد آن أَن تَثني غرامَك سلوةٌ

قد آن أَن تَثني غرامَك سلوةٌ

فَتُفيقَ منه طائعاً أَو مُكرَها

فَتُفيقَ منه طائعاً أَو مُكرَها

It is time for solace to turn your passion aside,

And you awake from it willingly or unwillingly

So you awaken from it, willingly or unwillingly.

It would be best for your tears to stop flowing

أَصَفا لدمعِكَ أَن يَبيتَ مُرقرقاً

أَصَفا لدمعِكَ أَن يَبيتَ مُرقرقاً

وَحَلا لِقَلبكَ أَن يظلَّ مولَّها

وَحَلا لِقَلبكَ أَن يظلَّ مولَّها

Has it become pleasant for your tears to shimmer all night,

And for your heart to stop yearning

And sweet for your heart to remain bewildered by love?

The turns of fate have toyed with it, so do not

عبثت صروفُ النائبات به فَلا

عبثت صروفُ النائبات به فَلا

جزع يأَوِّبُه ولا صَبرٌ وهى

جزع يأَوِّبُه ولا صَبرٌ وهى

The vicissitudes of calamity have toyed with it, yet no

Despair, which would destroy it, or be patient, which would leave it

Dismay turns it back, nor has its patience faltered.

When the lithe one mounted the carriage

ما إِن شَدت ورقاءُ فوق أَراكة

ما إِن شَدت ورقاءُ فوق أَراكة

إلّا وَكانَ له حَنينٌ مثلَها

إلّا وَكانَ له حَنينٌ مثلَها

Never did a gray dove sing atop an arak tree

It too felt the very same yearning

Without its yearning cry resembling hers.

The advisers warned it against passion

وَلَقَد نَهاهُ الناصحون عَن الهَوى

وَلَقَد نَهاهُ الناصحون عَن الهَوى

فأَبى وَكان هو الرَشيدَ لو اِنتَهى

فأَبى وَكان هو الرَشيدَ لو اِنتَهى

The advisers did indeed forbid it from love,

But it refused, though it would have triumphed had it heeded

Yet it refused; it would have been wise had it desisted.

Foolish is your mind for hoping

سَفهاً لرأيكَ أَن رجوتَ لما مَضى

سَفهاً لرأيكَ أَن رجوتَ لما مَضى

رَجعاً وقد وزَعَ المشيبُ ونهنا

رَجعاً وقد وزَعَ المشيبُ ونهنا

How foolish your judgment, to hope that what has passed

A return of what is past, now that old age has come and debilitated

Will return, when gray hair has checked and restrained you.

Alas the days of youth and its bounty

هَيهات أَيّامُ الشَباب وعهدُه

هَيهات أَيّامُ الشَباب وعهدُه

إِذ كنتَ في ظلِّ الشَبابِ مُرفَّها

إِذ كنتَ في ظلِّ الشَبابِ مُرفَّها

Far beyond reach are youth's days and its season,

When you lived in youth’s shade, indulged

When you lived at ease in the shade of youth.

Do not think the dwellings of love

لا تحسبَن أَنَّ المعاهدَ بالحِمى

لا تحسبَن أَنَّ المعاهدَ بالحِمى

تلكَ المعاهدِ والمها تلك المَها

تلكَ المعاهدِ والمها تلك المَها

Do not suppose that the haunts in the protected pasture

Are those dwellings, and do not think those are the loved ones

Are those same haunts, or the oryx those same oryx.

Those lands are now barren and those gatherings scattered

قد أَقفرَت تلك الربوعُ وفُرِّقَت

قد أَقفرَت تلك الربوعُ وفُرِّقَت

تلك الجموعُ فلا البهيُّ ولا البَها

تلك الجموعُ فلا البهيُّ ولا البَها

Those dwellings have grown desolate, and scattered are

No longer the brilliant one or the brilliant ones

Those gatherings; neither the fair one nor splendor remains.

Be brief, for the dwellings are empty, no passion left

أَقصِر فَقَد خَلَت الديارُ فَلا هَوىً

أَقصِر فَقَد خَلَت الديارُ فَلا هَوىً

يُصبى إليه ولا مَليحٌ يُشتَهى

يُصبى إليه ولا مَليحٌ يُشتَهى

Desist: the dwellings are empty; no love remains

To yearn for, no beauty left to desire

To lure one, nor any fair one to desire.

Naught remains but anguish or regret

لَم تبق إِلّا لَوعَةٌ أَو حَسرَةٌ

لَم تبق إِلّا لَوعَةٌ أَو حَسرَةٌ

يُمسي بها الصَخرُ الأَصَمُّ مدلّها

يُمسي بها الصَخرُ الأَصَمُّ مدلّها

Nothing remains but burning anguish or regret,

That leave even the deaf rocks lamenting at night

That leaves even unyielding rock distraught at dusk.