طالَ لَيلى وَبِتُّ كَالمَجنونِ

وَاِعتَرَتني الهُمومُ بِالماطِرونِ

Long was my night, and I remained sleepless as a madman,

And sorrows assaulted me like heavy rains.

صاحِ حَيّا الإِلهُ أَهلاً وَدوراً

عِندَ أَصلِ القَناةِ مِن جَيرونِ

Greetings, O God, to the family and the dwellings

At the origin of the canal from Jairoun.

عَن يَسارٍ إِذا دَخَلتُ مِنَ البا

بِ وَإِن كُنتُ خارِجاً بِيَميني

When I enter a door on the left,

Even though I exit through the right,

فَبِتِلكَ اِغتَرَبتُ في الشَأمِ حَتّى

ظَنَّ أَهلي مُرَجَّماتِ الظُنونِ

I became a stranger in Syria until

My family imagined confused thoughts.

وَهيَ زَهراءُ مِثلُ لُؤلُؤَةِ الغَوّ

اصِ ميزَت مِن جَوهَرِ مَكنونِ

She is like a pearl taken out

From a concealed essence.

وَإِذا ما نَسَبتُها لَم تجِدها

في سَناءٍ مِنَ المَكارِمِ دوني

And if I attribute her noble qualities,

I will not find her equal among the virtuous.

ثُمَّ دافَعتُها إِلى القُبَّةِ الخَضراءِ

نَمشي في مَرمَرٍ مَسنونِ

Then I took her to a green dome

Where we walked on marble and gold.

قُبَّةٍ مِن مَراجِلٍ ضَرَبَتها

عِندَ حَدِّ الشِتاءِ في القَيطونِ

A dome of bricks built

At the onset of winter in Qaytoon.

تَجعَلُ النَدَّ وَالأُلُوَّةَ وَالمِس

كَ صِلاءً لَها عَلى الكانونِ

It makes dew, flags, and torches

Like prayers for it in December.

وَقِبابٍ قَد أُشرِجَت وَبُيوتٍ

نُطِّقَت بِالرَيحانِ وَالزَرجونِ

Domes were erected and houses

Adorned with basil and marjoram.

ثُمَّ فارَقتُها عَلى خَيرِ ما كا

نَ قَرينٌ مُفارِقاً لِقَرينِ

Then I parted with her in the best state

That a companion parts with a companion.

وَبَكَت خَشيَةَ التَفَرُّقِ لِلبَي

نِ بُكاءَ الحَزينِ نَحوَ الحَزينِ

She cried fearing the separation

The crying of the sorrowful toward the sorrowful.

فَاِسأَلي عَن تَذَكُّري وَاِكتِئابي

لِإيابي إِذا هُمُ عَذَلوني

Ask about my remembrance and sadness

For my return when they rebuked me.

وَلَقَد قُلتُ إِذا تَطاوَلَ سُقمى

وَتَقَلَّبتُ لَيلَتي في فُنونِ

I said, when my illness was prolonged

And my night tossed and turned in discontent,

لَيتَ شِعري أَمِن هَوىً طارَ نَومي

أَم بَراني الباري قَصيرَ الجُفونِ

I wish I knew: did love steal my sleep?

Or did the Creator deprive me, of little rest?