إِنْif كُنْتَyou are يَاO صَوْتِيmy voice غَيْرَnot رَاجِعِreturning
إِنْ كُنْتَ يَا صَوْتِي غَيْرَ رَاجِعِ
فَتِلْكَthen that وَاللهِby God مِنَamong الفَوَاجِعِthe calamities
فَتِلْكَ وَاللهِ مِنَ الفَوَاجِعِ
If you, O my voice, are not to return,
If my voice, alas, comes not back again,
Then that, by God, is one of the calamities.
That voice into pieces now quite slain,
يَاO بُحَّةhoarseness بُحِحْتهَاI became hoarse with it فَأَصْبَحَتْso it became
يَا بُحَّة بُحِحْتهَا فَأَصْبَحَتْ
فصَاحَتِيmy eloquence مَذْبُوحَةَslaughtered المَقاطِعِthe syllables
فصَاحَتِي مَذْبُوحَةَ المَقاطِعِ
O hoarseness I have suffered, which has left
O nightingale that sang! Thy song that rang
My eloquence with its syllables slaughtered.
So sweet, alas! now broken all and vain.
أَلَحَّتpersisted العِلَّةِthe illness إِلْحَاحاًinsistently عَلَىupon
أَلَحَّت العِلَّةِ إِلْحَاحاً عَلَى
حُنْجُرَتِيmy throat هَلْis there? مِنْany عِلاَجٍcure نَاجِعِeffective
حُنْجُرَتِي هَلْ مِنْ عِلاَجٍ نَاجِعِ
The illness has pressed relentlessly upon
This sickness on my throat did sorely press,
My throat—is there any effective cure?
No cure, alas! could give my pain redress.
أَيَرْجِعُwill it return? العَهْدُthe time الَّذِيwhich يجْرِيflows بِهِin it
أَيَرْجِعُ العَهْدُ الَّذِي يجْرِي بِهِ
قَوْلِيmy speech هَنِيئاًsweetly فِيin فُؤَادِthe heart of السَّامِعِthe listener
قَوْلِي هَنِيئاً فِي فُؤَادِ السَّامِعِ
Will the time return in which there flows
Can he sweet days recall when softly flowed
My speech, sweetly, within the listener's heart?
My speech that joy into men's hearts could rain?
Sol 6.1