هَل شُقَّ جُيوبُ هَذِهِ الأَزهارِ

هَل شُقَّ جُيوبُ هَذِهِ الأَزهارِ

إِلّا طَرَباً لِنَغمَةِ الأَطيارِ

إِلّا طَرَباً لِنَغمَةِ الأَطيارِ

Were the bosoms of these flowers torn open

Have the robes of these flowers been torn

for anything but rapture at the birds’ song?

Except out of joy for the melody of birds?

فاِسمَع زَجَلَ الورقِ عَلى الأَشجارِ

فاِسمَع زَجَلَ الورقِ عَلى الأَشجارِ

تَتلو صُحُفَ الغَرامِ بِالأَسحارِ

تَتلو صُحُفَ الغَرامِ بِالأَسحارِ

So listen to the cooing of the doves in the trees,

Hear the rustle of leaves on the trees

reciting the pages of passionate love in the hours before dawn.

Reciting the scriptures of love at dawn