وَكَثِيْرَةِand one rich in النَّغَمَاتِmelodies تَحْسَبُهَاyou think her
وَكَثِيْرَةِ النَّغَمَاتِ تَحْسَبُهَا
فِيin كُلِّevery عُضْوٍlimb أُوتِيَتْshe was given حَلْقَاa throat
فِي كُلِّ عُضْوٍ أُوتِيَتْ حَلْقَا
And a woman rich in melodies—you would think her
With melodies aplenty, you'd think
endowed with a throat in every limb.
Each organ granted a voice
غَنَّتْshe sang فَظَلْتُso I kept إِخَالُنِيI imagine myself طَرَبَاًin rapture
غَنَّتْ فَظَلْتُ إِخَالُنِي طَرَبَاً
أَسْمُوI soar إِلَىto الأَفْلاَكِthe celestial spheres أَوْor أَرْقَىhigher still
أَسْمُو إِلَى الأَفْلاَكِ أَوْ أَرْقَى
She sang, and in rapture I kept imagining myself
She sang, and I was left enraptured
soaring to the celestial spheres, or higher still.
Soaring to the galaxies on high
تَحْكِيshe imitates أَنِيْنِيmy moaning وَهْيَwhile she is سَالِيَةٌuntroubled
تَحْكِي أَنِيْنِي وَهْيَ سَالِيَةٌ
مَمَّاby what أَجِنُّI conceal وَتَشْتَكِيand she complains عِشْقَاof love
مَمَّا أَجِنُّ وَتَشْتَكِي عِشْقَا
She echoes my moaning, though she is untroubled
She tells of my sighs as she flows along
by what I harbor, and complains of love.
Of my torments and lovesick pains
وَتَرَىand you see لَهَاbelonging to her عُودَاًan oud تُعَانِقُهُshe embraces it
وَتَرَى لَهَا عُودَاً تُعَانِقُهُ
وَكَلاَمُهُand its speech وَكَلاَمُهَاand her speech وِفْقَاin harmony
وَكَلاَمُهُ وَكَلاَمُهَا وِفْقَا
And you see her with an oud she embraces,
Beholding a lute she embraces
its voice and hers in harmony.
Their words entwined in harmony
لَوْif لَمْdid not تُحَرِّكْهُmove it أَنَامِلُهَاher fingertips
لَوْ لَمْ تُحَرِّكْهُ أَنَامِلُهَا
كَانَwould have الهَوَاءُthe air يُفِيْدُهُgiven it نُطْقَاspeech
كَانَ الهَوَاءُ يُفِيْدُهُ نُطْقَا
Had her fingertips not set it moving,
If not for her dancing fingers
the air would have given it speech.
The very air would grant it speech
جَسَّتْهُshe felt it عَالِمَهًaware بِحَالَتِهِof its condition
جَسَّتْهُ عَالِمَهً بِحَالَتِهِ
جَسَّthe feeling of الطَّبِيْبِthe physician لِمُدْنَفٍfor one gravely ill عِرْقَاa pulse
جَسَّ الطَّبِيْبِ لِمُدْنَفٍ عِرْقَا
She felt it, knowing its condition,
She felt its state with a scholar's perception
as a physician feels a gravely ill man's pulse.
As a doctor feels a fevered brow
فَحَسِبْتُso I thought يُمْنَاهَاher right hand تُحَرِّكُهُmoves it
فَحَسِبْتُ يُمْنَاهَا تُحَرِّكُهُ
رَعْدَاًthunder وَخِلْتُand I fancied يَسَارَهَاher left hand بَرْقَاlightning
رَعْدَاً وَخِلْتُ يَسَارَهَا بَرْقَا
So I thought her right hand, as it moved the oud,
I fancied her right hand stirred it
was thunder, and fancied her left hand lightning.
With thunder, her left with lightning's flash
Sol 6.1