لاdo not تَلُمنيblame me عَلىfor الدُموعِthe tears الجَواريflowing
لا تَلُمني عَلى الدُموعِ الجَواري
فَهِيَfor they are عَونيmy help عَلىin bearing فِراقِseparation from الجِوارِthe neighbors
فَهِيَ عَوني عَلى فِراقِ الجِوارِ
Do not blame me for the flowing tears,
Blame me not for shedding tears of sorrow,
for they help me bear parting from my neighbors.
They comfort me when friends depart afar,
كَمhow many a لَئيمٍbase man يَلَذُّdelights بِالعَيشِin life صَفواًuntroubled
كَم لَئيمٍ يَلَذُّ بِالعَيشِ صَفواً
وَكَريمٍand a noble man يَغُصُّchokes بِالأَكدارِon sorrows
وَكَريمٍ يَغُصُّ بِالأَكدارِ
How many a base man delights in an untroubled life,
How vile is he who joyfully lives ignobly,
while a noble man chokes on sorrows.
While the noble grieves with life's disquietude.
لاdoes not يَفيmake up الوَصلَunion بِالصُدودِfor rejection خَليلَيَّmy two friends
لا يَفي الوَصلَ بِالصُدودِ خَليلَيَّ
كَماjust as الخَمرُwine لاdoes not تَفيmake up بِالخِمارِfor a hangover
كَما الخَمرُ لا تَفي بِالخِمارِ
Union does not make up for rejection, my two friends,
No union with the beloved quenches my thirst,
just as wine does not make up for a hangover.
As wine behind the veil which cannot inebriate.
فَاِسقِنيهاso give it to me to drink لَعَلَّهاperhaps it تَصرِفُdrives away
فَاِسقِنيها لَعَلَّها تَصرِفُ
الهَمَّsorrow عَلىto طيبِsweetness of نَغَمَةِmelody of الأَوتارِthe strings
الهَمَّ عَلى طيبِ نَغَمَةِ الأَوتارِ
So pour it for me; perhaps it will drive away
Give me that wine, perhaps it will dispel,
sorrow, to the sweet melody of the strings.
My cares through charming melodies of the lute strings.
خَندَريساًaged wine كَأَنَّهاas though it were فيin دُجىdarkness of اللَيلِthe night
خَندَريساً كَأَنَّها في دُجى اللَيلِ
بِأَيديin the hands of السُقاةِthe cupbearers شَمسُsun of النَهارِthe day
بِأَيدي السُقاةِ شَمسُ النَهارِ
Aged wine, as though in the darkness of night
A goblet as though amid the dark night's gloom,
it were the sun of day in the cupbearers' hands.
In the cups of wine-pourers, sun of day.
إِنَّماonly العَيشُlife فيin رِياضِgardens of دمَشقٍDamascus
إِنَّما العَيشُ في رِياضِ دمَشقٍ
بَينَamong أَقمارِهاher moons وَبَينَand among القَماريthe turtledoves
بَينَ أَقمارِها وَبَينَ القَماري
Life is only in the gardens of Damascus,
Living is only in Damascus' gardens,
among her moons and the turtledoves.
Among its moons and with dice for leisure.
قَدalready خَلَعتُI cast off العِذارَthe bridle فيهاin her وَمازِلتُand I still remain
قَد خَلَعتُ العِذارَ فيها وَمازِلتُ
عَلىin حُبِّهاlove for her خَليعَhaving cast off العِذارِthe bridle
عَلى حُبِّها خَليعَ العِذارِ
I have cast off the bridle there, and still remain
I have shed my chastity there yet remain,
unbridled in my love for her,
Enslaved by love though virtue I did mar.
مِثلَlike ماthe fact that قَدalready خَلَعتُI bestowed أَثوابَrobes of مَدحيmy praise
مِثلَ ما قَد خَلَعتُ أَثوابَ مَدحي
بِاِختِياريby my own choice عَلىupon بَنيthe sons of بَختِيارِBakhtiyar
بِاِختِياري عَلى بَني بَختِيارِ
just as I have bestowed the robes of my praise
Just as willingly I shed the clothes of praise,
of my own choosing upon the sons of Bakhtiyar.
By my own choice for the clan of Bakhtiyar.
مُعشُرٌa clan كَالغُيوثِlike life-giving rains فيin حَلبَةِarena of السِلمِpeace
مُعشُرٌ كَالغُيوثِ في حَلبَةِ السِلمِ
وَفيand in الحَربِwar كَاللُيوثِlike lions الضَواريravening
وَفي الحَربِ كَاللُيوثِ الضَواري
A clan like life-giving rains in the arena of peace,
A folk like rainclouds in the plain of lances,
and in war like ravening lions,
And in war like ferocious roaring lions,
بِقُلوبٍwith hearts كَأَنَّهاas though they were مِنof جِبالٍmountains
بِقُلوبٍ كَأَنَّها مِن جِبالٍ
وَأَكُفٍّand hands كَأَنَّهاas though they were مِنof بِحارِseas
وَأَكُفٍّ كَأَنَّها مِن بِحارِ
with hearts as though made of mountains,
With hearts firm as the mountains,
and hands as though made of seas.
And palms generous as the oceans,
وَكَأَنِّand as though الإِلَهَGod جَلِّexalted is He بُراهُمHe fashioned them
وَكَأَنِّ الإِلَهَ جَلِّ بُراهُم
مِنfrom فَخارٍglory وَالناسُand people مِنfrom فَخّارِfired clay
مِن فَخارٍ وَالناسُ مِن فَخّارِ
And as though God—exalted is He—had fashioned them
As though God—Glorious is He—molded them,
from glory, and other people from fired clay.
From clay, while people were made from potters.
Sol 6.1