يا نَظرَةً بِشَرخٍ شَبابي

يا نَظرَةً بِشَرخٍ شَبابي

وَقَضى عَلَيَّ نَعيمُها بِعَذابِ

وَقَضى عَلَيَّ نَعيمُها بِعَذابِ

O glance, in the very bloom of my youth,

O glance in the prime of my youth,

whose bliss condemned me to torment!

And its bliss sentenced me to torment.

ما كُنتُ أَحسَبُ نَظرَةً مِن نَضرَةٍ

ما كُنتُ أَحسَبُ نَظرَةً مِن نَضرَةٍ

تَقضي عَلى مشتاقِها بِعقابِ

تَقضي عَلى مشتاقِها بِعقابِ

I never thought a glance from one so radiant

I never thought a glance from radiant beauty

could condemn the one who yearns for her to punishment.

Would condemn the one longing for it to punishment.

يا شادِناً عَيناهُ تَفعَلُ بِالنُهى

يا شادِناً عَيناهُ تَفعَلُ بِالنُهى

ما تَفعَلُ الصَهباءُ بِالأَلبابِ

ما تَفعَلُ الصَهباءُ بِالأَلبابِ

O young gazelle, your eyes do to reason

O young gazelle, whose eyes do to reason

what tawny wine does to minds.

What tawny wine does to minds.

لَو ذُقتَ ما ذُوِّقتُ مِن أَلمِ الهَوى

لَو ذُقتَ ما ذُوِّقتُ مِن أَلمِ الهَوى

لَعَلمتَ قَدرَ الشَوقِ لِلأَحباب

لَعَلمتَ قَدرَ الشَوقِ لِلأَحباب

Had you tasted the pain of passion I was made to taste,

Had you tasted the pain of love I was made to taste,

you would know the measure of longing for those beloved.

You would have known the depth of longing for loved ones.

إِنّي لَأَعجَبُ مِن عِتابِ عَواذِلي

إِنّي لَأَعجَبُ مِن عِتابِ عَواذِلي

جَهلاً عَليكَ وَما يُفيدُ عِتابي

جَهلاً عَليكَ وَما يُفيدُ عِتابي

Indeed, I marvel at my censurers’ reproach,

I truly marvel at my reproachers' rebukes,

born of ignorance of you—what good can reproaching me do?

Born of ignorance about you—and what good does reproaching me do?

قَلبي يَرى أَن لا سُلُوَّ مِن الهَوى

قَلبي يَرى أَن لا سُلُوَّ مِن الهَوى

رَضي الَّذي يَلقى مِن الأَوصابِ

رَضي الَّذي يَلقى مِن الأَوصابِ

My heart believes that what I was made to taste of passion

My heart sees that there is no forgetting love;

would leave content even one who encounters afflictions.

It is content with the afflictions it encounters.

يا عاذِلي ماذا تضرُّكَ شقوتي

يا عاذِلي ماذا تضرُّكَ شقوتي

القَلبُ قَلبي وَالعَذابُ عَذابي

القَلبُ قَلبي وَالعَذابُ عَذابي

O you who blame me, how can my lament harm you?

O my reproacher, what harm does my misery do you?

The heart is my heart, and the torment my torment.

The heart is mine, and the torment is mine.