رُبَّ وَرقاءَ هتوفٍ في الضُحى

ذاتِ شَجوٍ صَدَحت في فَنَنِ

Many a gray dove, calling in the forenoon,

Grief-laden, has sung out upon a bough.

ذكرت إِلفاً ودهراً صالحاً

فبكت حزناً وهاجت حَزني

She remembered a beloved companion and happier days,

And wept in sorrow, stirring up my sorrow.

فبكائي ربما أرَّقَها

وبكاها ربما أرَّقَني

Perhaps my weeping kept her wakeful,

And perhaps her weeping kept me wakeful.

ولقد تشكو فما أفهمها

ولقد أشكو فما تفهمني

Indeed, she complains, but I do not understand her;

And indeed, I complain, but she does not understand me.

غير أنّي بالجوى أعرِفُها

وهي أيضاً بالجَوى تعرفُني

Yet through love’s anguish I know her,

And through love’s anguish she knows me as well.