وَساجِعٍ في فُروعِ الأَيكِ هَيَّجَني

لَم أَدرِ لِم ناحَ مِمّا بي وَلِم سَجَعا

The cooing dove in the branches of the oaks stirred me,

I know not why I grieved for what was between us and why I lamented.

أَباكِياً إِلفَهُ مِن بَعدِ فَرقَتِهِ

أَم جازِعاً لِلنَوى مِن قَبلِ أَن تَقعا

Weeping for his love after separation,

Or sad for the tryst before it comes to pass.

يَدعو حَمامَتَهُ وَالطَيرُ هاجِعَةٌ

فَما هَجَعتُ لَهُ لَيلاً وَلا هَجعا

He calls his dove while the birds slumber,

Yet I did not sleep a night nor slumber.

مُوَشَّحٌ سُندُساً خُضرٌ مناكِبُهُ

تَرى مِنَ المِسكِ في أَذيالِهِ لُمَعا

Clad in green silk, his shoulders adorned,

His train scented of musk as it trails behind.

لَهُ مِنَ الآس طَوقٌ فَوقَ لَبَّتِهِ

مِنَ البَنَفسَجِ وَالخيريِّ قَد جُمِعا

His neck is collared over his doublet,

With violets and clover intertwined.

كَأَنَّما عَبَّ في مُسوَدِّ غاليَةٍ

وَحَلَّ مِن تَحتِهِ الكافورُ فانتَقَعا

As if he were scented with rich perfume,

Camphor emanating from beneath his clothes.

كَأَنَّ عَينَيهِ مِن حُسنِ اِصفِرارِهِما

فَصّانِ مِن حَجَرِ الياقوتِ قَد قُطِعا

His yellow eyes gleam as if cut

From carnelian stones of purest hue.

كَأَنَّ رِجلَيهِ مِن حُسنِ اِحمِرارِهِما

ما رَقَّ مِن شُعَبِ المَرجانِ فاِتَّسَعا

His ruddy legs seem as if made

From unbroken coral that expands in view.

شَكا النَوى فَبَكى خَوفَ الأَسى فَرَمى

بَينَ الجَوانِحِ مِن أَوجاعِهِ وَجَعا

He complained of the tryst and wept fearing sadness,

Throwing his pain amongst his sighing companions.

وَالريحُ تَخفِضُهُ طوراً وَتَرفَعُهُ

طوراً فمُنخَفِضاً يَدعو وَمُرتَفِعا

The wind makes him sway, lowering then raising him,

Lowering while calling, raising while lamenting.

كَأَنَّهُ راهِبٌ في رأَسِ صَومَعَةٍ

يَتلو الزَبورَ وَنَجمُ الصُبحِ قَد طَلَعا

As if he were a monk atop a monastery

Reciting psalms as the morning star rises.