وأَشقرٍ ما زِلْتُ من جَرْيِه

وأَشقرٍ ما زِلْتُ من جَرْيِه

أَطْوِي به البيدَ كطيِّ الكِتَابْ

أَطْوِي به البيدَ كطيِّ الكِتَابْ

And a chestnut steed—through his galloping I have kept

Blond-haired, I have not ceased to flow with him,

Folding the wastelands upon him as one folds a scroll.

I fold with him the expanse like folding a book.

كأَنَّما أَرجلُه في الفَلا

كأَنَّما أَرجلُه في الفَلا

أَنامِلٌ تُسرِع لَقْط الحِسَابْ

أَنامِلٌ تُسرِع لَقْط الحِسَابْ

As though his legs in the wilderness

As if his feet in the meadow

Were fingertips swiftly gathering counters for reckoning.

Were fingers hastening the counting of fortune.

يَجْرِي فلاَ أَعْلَمُ عُجْباً بِه

يَجْرِي فلاَ أَعْلَمُ عُجْباً بِه

أَمارِدٌ أُبصرُه أَمْ شِهَابْ

أَمارِدٌ أُبصرُه أَمْ شِهَابْ

He runs, and in wonder at him I cannot tell:

He flows on, and I do not know what to make of him-

Is it a rebellious demon I see, or a shooting star?

A fiery jinn I espy him or a shooting star?

كم غصَّةٍ للبرقِ من أَجْلِه

كم غصَّةٍ للبرقِ من أَجْلِه

فليت شِعْرِي كَيفَ حالُ السحابْ

فليت شِعْرِي كَيفَ حالُ السحابْ

How many choking pangs lightning suffers on his account!

How many handfuls has lightning snatched because of him!

So, would that I knew how the clouds fare!

I wonder, what is the condition of the clouds?

آثارُه عِقْدُ نُهودِ الرُّبَا

آثارُه عِقْدُ نُهودِ الرُّبَا

ونَقْعُهُ طُحْلبُ بحْر السَّرابْ

ونَقْعُهُ طُحْلبُ بحْر السَّرابْ

His tracks are a necklace on the breasts of the hills,

His traces are a necklace of soft white pearls,

And his dust is algae on the sea of mirage.

His striking the meadows, the phosphorescence of the mirage's sea.