أَلَمْhas it not يَأْنِbecome time أَنْthat يَرْضَىbe content عَنِwith الدَّهْرِfate مُغْرَمُa lover
أَلَمْ يَأْنِ أَنْ يَرْضَى عَنِ الدَّهْرِ مُغْرَمُ
أَمِor الْعُمْرُlife يَفْنَىpasses away وَالْمَآرِبُand desires تُعْدَمُare denied
أَمِ الْعُمْرُ يَفْنَى وَالْمَآرِبُ تُعْدَمُ
Has the time not come for a lover to be content with fate?
Or must life pass away while desires go unfulfilled?
أُحَاوِلُI seek وَصْلاًunion مِنْfrom حَبِيبٍa beloved مُمَنَّعٍinaccessible
أُحَاوِلُ وَصْلاً مِنْ حَبِيبٍ مُمَنَّعٍ
وَبَعْضُand some أَمَانِيwishes النَّفْسِof the soul غَيْبٌan unseen mystery مُرَجَّمُguessed at
وَبَعْضُ أَمَانِي النَّفْسِ غَيْبٌ مُرَجَّمُ
I seek union with an inaccessible beloved,
and some of the soul's wishes are mysteries only guessed at.
وَمَاand not كُلُّeveryone مَنْwho رَامَsought الْعَظَائِمَgreat deeds نَالَهَاattained them
وَمَا كُلُّ مَنْ رَامَ الْعَظَائِمَ نَالَهَا
وَلاnor كُلُّeveryone مَنْwho خَاضَplunged into الْكَرِيهَةَbattle يَغْنَمُwins spoils
وَلا كُلُّ مَنْ خَاضَ الْكَرِيهَةَ يَغْنَمُ
Not everyone who seeks great deeds attains them,
nor does everyone who plunges into battle win spoils.
يَسُرُّgladdens الْفَتَىthe youth مِنْthrough عِشْقِهِhis passion مَاwhat يَسُوؤُهُgrieves him
يَسُرُّ الْفَتَى مِنْ عِشْقِهِ مَا يَسُوؤُهُ
وَفِيand in الرَّاحِwine لَهْوٌdiversion لِلنُّفُوسِfor souls وَمَغْرَمُand a cost
وَفِي الرَّاحِ لَهْوٌ لِلنُّفُوسِ وَمَغْرَمُ
In his passion, a youth finds joy in what grieves him;
and wine brings souls diversion—and a cost.
وَلَوْand if كَانَthere were لِلإِنْسَانِfor a person عِلْمٌknowledge يَدُلُّهُguiding him
وَلَوْ كَانَ لِلإِنْسَانِ عِلْمٌ يَدُلُّهُ
عَلَىto خَافِيَاتِthe hidden mysteries of الْغَيْبِthe unseen مَاnot كَانَwould يَنْدَمُregret
عَلَى خَافِيَاتِ الْغَيْبِ مَا كَانَ يَنْدَمُ
And if a man had knowledge to guide him
to the hidden mysteries of the unseen, he would not regret.
كَتَمْتُI concealed الْهَوَىlove خَوْفَfor fear of الْوُشَاةِtale-bearers فَلَمْbut did not يَزَلْcease
كَتَمْتُ الْهَوَى خَوْفَ الْوُشَاةِ فَلَمْ يَزَلْ
بِيَwith me الدَّمْعُtears حَتَّىuntil بَانَbecame plain مَاwhat كُنْتُI was أَكْتُمُconcealing
بِيَ الدَّمْعُ حَتَّى بَانَ مَا كُنْتُ أَكْتُمُ
I hid my love for fear of tale-bearers, but still
tears beset me till what I had concealed was plain.
وَكَيْفَand how أُدَارِيI soothe النَّفْسَthe soul وَهْيَwhile it is مَشُوقَةٌfull of longing
وَكَيْفَ أُدَارِي النَّفْسَ وَهْيَ مَشُوقَةٌ
وَأَحْلُمُand I show forbearance عَنْهَاtoward it وَالْهَوَىwhile passion لَيْسَdoes not يَحْلُمُshow forbearance
وَأَحْلُمُ عَنْهَا وَالْهَوَى لَيْسَ يَحْلُمُ
How can I soothe the soul when it is full of longing,
and bear with it when passion shows no forbearance?
وَتَحْتَand beneath جَنَاحِthe wing of اللَّيْلِnight مِنِّيfrom me ابْنُa son of لَوْعَةٍanguish
وَتَحْتَ جَنَاحِ اللَّيْلِ مِنِّي ابْنُ لَوْعَةٍ
يَرِقُّfeels pity إِلَيْهِfor him الطَّائِرُthe bird الْمُتَرَنِّمُsinging
يَرِقُّ إِلَيْهِ الطَّائِرُ الْمُتَرَنِّمُ
Beneath night's wing, I am a child of anguish,
whom the singing bird pities.
إِذَاwhen مَدَّhe draws out مِنْfrom أَنْفَاسِهِhis breaths لاحَappears بَارِقٌa lightning-flash
إِذَا مَدَّ مِنْ أَنْفَاسِهِ لاحَ بَارِقٌ
وَإِنْand if حَلَّhe releases مِنْfrom أَجْفَانِهِhis eyelids فَاضَoverflows خِضْرِمُa vast sea
وَإِنْ حَلَّ مِنْ أَجْفَانِهِ فَاضَ خِضْرِمُ
When he draws out his breaths, a lightning-flash appears;
and if he releases tears from his eyelids, a vast sea overflows.
وَإِنَّand indeed الْتِيshe whom يَشْتَاقُهَاyearns for her الْقَلْبُthe heart غَادَةٌa graceful maiden
وَإِنَّ الْتِي يَشْتَاقُهَا الْقَلْبُ غَادَةٌ
لَهَاshe has الرُّمْحُthe spear قَدٌّa stature وَالْمُهَنَّدُand the Indian sword مِعْصَمُa wrist
لَهَا الرُّمْحُ قَدٌّ وَالْمُهَنَّدُ مِعْصَمُ
She whom the heart longs for is a graceful maiden;
a spear is her stature, an Indian sword her wrist.
يَنُمُّtells بِهَاof her صُبْحٌa dawn مِنَof الْبِيضِthe white blades أَزْهَرٌradiant
يَنُمُّ بِهَا صُبْحٌ مِنَ الْبِيضِ أَزْهَرٌ
وَيَكْتُمُهَاand conceals her نَقْعٌa dust-cloud مِنَof اللَّيْلِnight مُظْلِمُdark
وَيَكْتُمُهَا نَقْعٌ مِنَ اللَّيْلِ مُظْلِمُ
A radiant dawn of white blades reveals her,
and a dark dust-cloud of night conceals her.
إِذَاwhen رَاسَلَتْshe sends messages كَانَتْis رِسَالَةُthe message of حُبِّهَاher love
إِذَا رَاسَلَتْ كَانَتْ رِسَالَةُ حُبِّهَا
بِضَرْبِwith strokes of الظُّبَاsword-edges تُوحِيit signals وَبِالطَّعْنِand with spear-thrusts تَعْجُمُit dots letters
بِضَرْبِ الظُّبَا تُوحِي وَبِالطَّعْنِ تَعْجُمُ
When she sends word, her message of love
speaks in sword-strokes and dots its letters with spear-thrusts.
لَهَاfor her مِنْfrom دِمَاءِthe blood of الصِّيدِproud nobles فِيin حَوْمَةِthe thick of الْوَغَىbattle
لَهَا مِنْ دِمَاءِ الصِّيدِ فِي حَوْمَةِ الْوَغَى
شَرَابٌdrink وَمِنْand from هَامِthe heads of الْفَوَارِسِhorsemen مَطْعَمُfood
شَرَابٌ وَمِنْ هَامِ الْفَوَارِسِ مَطْعَمُ
For her, the blood of proud nobles in the thick of battle
is drink, and the heads of horsemen are food.
فَتِلْكَso she is الَّتِيthe one whose لاnot وَصْلُهَاunion with her مُتَوَقَّعٌexpected
فَتِلْكَ الَّتِي لا وَصْلُهَا مُتَوَقَّعٌ
لَدَيْنَاby us وَلاnor سُلْوَانُهَاforgetting her مُتَصَرَّمُcarried through
لَدَيْنَا وَلا سُلْوَانُهَا مُتَصَرَّمُ
She is the one whose union cannot be expected
by us, nor can forgetting her be carried through.
عَلِقْتُI became enamored بِهَاof her وَهْيَand she is الْمَعَالِيlofty honors وَقَلمَاand seldom
عَلِقْتُ بِهَا وَهْيَ الْمَعَالِي وَقَلمَا
يَهِيمُis madly in love بِهَاwith her إِلَّاexcept الشُّجَاعُthe brave man الْمُصَمِّمُresolute
يَهِيمُ بِهَا إِلَّا الشُّجَاعُ الْمُصَمِّمُ
I fell in love with her—she is the heights of honor—and seldom
does any but the resolute brave man love her madly.
هَوَىًa love لَيْسَthere is not فِيهِin it لِلْمَلامَةِfor reproach مَسْلَكٌa path
هَوَىً لَيْسَ فِيهِ لِلْمَلامَةِ مَسْلَكٌ
وَلاnor لاِمْرِئٍfor a man نَاجَىconfides to بِهِabout it النَّفْسَthe soul مَأْثَمُsin
وَلا لاِمْرِئٍ نَاجَى بِهِ النَّفْسَ مَأْثَمُ
A love in which reproach can find no path,
nor sin attach to a man who whispers of it to his soul.
تَلَذُّbecome sweet بِهِthrough it الآلامُpains وَهْيَthough they are مُبِيرَةٌdeadly
تَلَذُّ بِهِ الآلامُ وَهْيَ مُبِيرَةٌ
وَيَحْلُوand grows sweet بِهِthrough it طَعْمُthe taste of الرَّدَىdeath وَهْوَthough it is عَلْقَمُbitter colocynth
وَيَحْلُو بِهِ طَعْمُ الرَّدَى وَهْوَ عَلْقَمُ
Through it, pains turn sweet, though they are deadly,
and through it death tastes sweet, though it is bitter colocynth.
فَمَنْso whoever يَكُis بِالْبِيضِof the fair-skinned الْكوَاعِبِrounded-breasted maidens مُغْرماًenamored
فَمَنْ يَكُ بِالْبِيضِ الْكوَاعِبِ مُغْرماً
فَإِنِّيَfor I بِالْبِيضِof the bright blades الْقَوَاضِبِkeen-cutting مُغْرَمُenamored
فَإِنِّيَ بِالْبِيضِ الْقَوَاضِبِ مُغْرَمُ
Whoever is enamored of fair, rounded-breasted maidens,
I, for my part, am enamored of bright, keen-cutting swords.
أَسِيرُI travel وَأَنْفَاسُwhile the breaths of الْعَوَاصِفِtempests رُكَّدٌare still
أَسِيرُ وَأَنْفَاسُ الْعَوَاصِفِ رُكَّدٌ
وَأَسْرِيand I travel by night وَأَلْحَاظُwhile the glances of الْكَوَاكِبِthe stars نُوَّمُare asleep
وَأَسْرِي وَأَلْحَاظُ الْكَوَاكِبِ نُوَّمُ
I travel while the breaths of tempests lie still,
and journey by night while the stars' glances sleep.
وَمَاand there is no بَيْنَbetween سَلِّthe drawing of السَّيْفِthe sword وَالْمَوْتِand death فُرْجَةٌan interval
وَمَا بَيْنَ سَلِّ السَّيْفِ وَالْمَوْتِ فُرْجَةٌ
لَدَىduring الْحَرْبِbattle إِلَّاexcept رَيْثَمَاthe time it takes أَتَكَلَّمُme to speak
لَدَى الْحَرْبِ إِلَّا رَيْثَمَا أَتَكَلَّمُ
Between drawing the sword and death there is no interval
in battle, save the time it takes me to speak.
أَنَاI الْمَرْءُthe man لاnot يَثْنِيهِdeters him عَمَّاfrom what يَرُومُهُhe seeks it
أَنَا الْمَرْءُ لا يَثْنِيهِ عَمَّا يَرُومُهُ
نَهِيتُthe roaring of الْعِدَاfoes وَالشَّرُّwhile evil عُرْيَانُnaked أَشْأَمُill-omened
نَهِيتُ الْعِدَا وَالشَّرُّ عُرْيَانُ أَشْأَمُ
I am the man who is not turned from what he seeks
by the roaring of foes, though evil stands naked and ill-omened.
أُغِيرُI raid عَلَىagainst الأَبْطَالِthe champions وَالصُّبْحُwhile dawn أَشْهَبٌpale-gray
أُغِيرُ عَلَى الأَبْطَالِ وَالصُّبْحُ أَشْهَبٌ
وَآوِيand I return إِلَىto الضِّيفَانِthe guests وَاللَّيْلُwhile night أَدْهَمُjet-black
وَآوِي إِلَى الضِّيفَانِ وَاللَّيْلُ أَدْهَمُ
I charge at champions while dawn is pale-gray,
and return to the guests while night is jet-black.
وَيَصْحَبُنِيand accompany me فِيin كُلِّevery رَوْعٍterror ثَلاثَةٌthree
وَيَصْحَبُنِي فِي كُلِّ رَوْعٍ ثَلاثَةٌ
حُسَامٌa sharp sword وَطِرْفٌand a noble steed أَعْوَجِيٌّof Aʿwaj stock وَلَهْذَمُand a keen spear
حُسَامٌ وَطِرْفٌ أَعْوَجِيٌّ وَلَهْذَمُ
Three accompany me in every terror:
a sharp sword, an Aʿwaji steed, and a keen spear.
وَيَنْصُرُنِيand support me فِيin كُلِّevery جَمْعٍassembly ثَلاثَةٌthree
وَيَنْصُرُنِي فِي كُلِّ جَمْعٍ ثَلاثَةٌ
لِسَانٌa tongue وَبُرْهَانٌand a proof وَرَأْيٌand judgment مُحَكَّمُsound
لِسَانٌ وَبُرْهَانٌ وَرَأْيٌ مُحَكَّمُ
Three support me in every assembly:
a tongue, a proof, and sound judgment.
فَمَاso not أَنَاI بِالمَغْمُورِone overwhelmed إِنْif عَنَّarises حَادِثٌa calamity
فَمَا أَنَا بِالمَغْمُورِ إِنْ عَنَّ حَادِثٌ
وَلاnor بِالَّذِيone who إِنْif أَشْكَلَbecomes obscure الأَمْرُthe matter يَفْحَمُis struck speechless
وَلا بِالَّذِي إِنْ أَشْكَلَ الأَمْرُ يَفْحَمُ
I am not one overwhelmed when a calamity arises,
nor one struck speechless when matters grow obscure.
لِسَانِيmy tongue كَنَصْلِيlike my blade فِيin الْمَقَالِspeech وَصَارِمِيand my sharp sword
لِسَانِي كَنَصْلِي فِي الْمَقَالِ وَصَارِمِي
كَغَرْبِlike the edge of لِسَانِيmy tongue حِينَwhen لَمْnot يَبْقَremains مُقْدِمُone who advances
كَغَرْبِ لِسَانِي حِينَ لَمْ يَبْقَ مُقْدِمُ
My tongue is like my blade in speech, and my sharp sword
is like my tongue's edge when none remains to advance.
إِذَاwhen صُلْتُI charge فَدَّتْنِيransoms me فِرَاسٌFiras بِشَيْخِهَاwith its chief
إِذَا صُلْتُ فَدَّتْنِي فِرَاسٌ بِشَيْخِهَا
وَإِنْand if قُلْتُI speak حَيَّانِيsalutes me شَبِيبٌShabib وَأَكْثَمُand Aktham
وَإِنْ قُلْتُ حَيَّانِي شَبِيبٌ وَأَكْثَمُ
When I charge, Firas offers its chief as my ransom;
and when I speak, Shabib and Aktham salute me.
فَلاso do not تَحْتَقِرْscorn فَضْلَthe excellence of الْكَلامِspeech فَإِنَّهُfor indeed it is
فَلا تَحْتَقِرْ فَضْلَ الْكَلامِ فَإِنَّهُ
مِنَamong الْقَوْلِspeech مَاthat which يَبْنِيbuilds الْمَعَالِيlofty honors وَيَهْدِمُand tears down
مِنَ الْقَوْلِ مَا يَبْنِي الْمَعَالِي وَيَهْدِمُ
So do not scorn the excellence of speech, for
some words build lofty honors, and some tear them down.
وَمَاand not هُوَit إِلَّاexcept جَوْهَرُthe jewel of الْفَضْلِexcellence وَالنُّهَىand reason
وَمَا هُوَ إِلَّا جَوْهَرُ الْفَضْلِ وَالنُّهَى
يُسَرَّدُis threaded فِيon سِلْكِthe strand of الْمَقَالِspeech وَيُنْظَمُand set in order
يُسَرَّدُ فِي سِلْكِ الْمَقَالِ وَيُنْظَمُ
It is only the jewel of excellence and reason,
threaded on the strand of speech and set in order.
فَمَاfor not كُلُّeveryone مَنْwho حَاكَwove الْقَصَائِدَodes شَاعِرٌa poet
فَمَا كُلُّ مَنْ حَاكَ الْقَصَائِدَ شَاعِرٌ
وَلاnor كُلُّeveryone مَنْwho قَالَuttered النَّسِيبَlove-verse مُتَيَّمُenthralled by love
وَلا كُلُّ مَنْ قَالَ النَّسِيبَ مُتَيَّمُ
Not everyone who weaves odes is a poet,
nor is everyone who utters love-verse love's captive.
فَإِنْso if يَكُbe عَصْرُthe age of الْقَوْلِeloquence وَلَّىhas passed فَإِنَّنِيthen indeed I
فَإِنْ يَكُ عَصْرُ الْقَوْلِ وَلَّى فَإِنَّنِي
بِفَضْلِيby my merit وَإِنْand even if كُنْتُI was الأَخِيرَthe last مُقَدَّمُplaced foremost
بِفَضْلِي وَإِنْ كُنْتُ الأَخِيرَ مُقَدَّمُ
If the age of eloquence has passed, then I,
by my merit, though the last, am placed foremost.
Sol 6.1