يا ضارب العود أطربت الجماد بهِ

يا ضارب العود أطربت الجماد بهِ

والعقل ما بين مفقودٍ وموجودِ

والعقل ما بين مفقودٍ وموجودِ

O oud player, you have enraptured lifeless things with it.

Oh strummer of the lute, you have delighted even unfeeling matter

And reason is somewhere between absence and presence.

While reason hovers between absence and presence

والروح من طربٍ كادت تطير هوى

والروح من طربٍ كادت تطير هوى

لو لم تنادِ بها لا تتركي عودي

لو لم تنادِ بها لا تتركي عودي

And the soul, in rapture, nearly took flight in love,

And the soul, intoxicated with rapture, is about to take flight

Had you not called to it: 'Do not leave my oud!'

Were you not to call it back: Do not forsake my lute!