أَلا أَيُّها الرَبعُ الَّذي خَفَّ أَهلُهُ

وَأَمسى خَلاءً مُوحِشاً غَيرَ آهِلِ

O quarter that has seen its people leave,

And become empty and desolate without inhabitants,

هَلَ أَنتَ مُنَبّى أَينَ أَهلُكَ ذا هَوى

وَأَنتَ خَبيرٌ لَو نَطَقتَ لِسائِلِ

Are you a refuge? Where are your people of passion?

You know, even if silent to the questioner,

لِعِرّانَ سارُوا أَم لِحَربٍ تَيَمَّمُوا

لَكَ الوَيلُ أَم حَلُّوُا بِقَرنِ المَنازِلِ

Did they travel to exhibit themselves? Or set out for war?

Woe to you! Or have they moved on to other dwellings?

وَأَيَّ بِلادِ اللَهِ حَلُّوا فَإِنَّني

عَلى العَهدِ راعٍ لِلخَليطِ المَزايِلِ

To which of God's lands have they moved? For I

Am still a shepherd to the mixed common folk.

فَقالَ رَفيقي ما الوُقُوفُ بِمَنزِلٍ

وَنُؤىٍ كَعِنوانِ الصَحِيفَةِ ماثِلِ

My friend said: What is this standing still in an abode,

Like a title page left barren?

بِنَعفِ اللِوى قَد غَيَّرَ القَطرُ عَهدَهُ

مَعَ المُورِ أَو نَسجُ الصَبا وَالشَمائِلِ

The downpour has changed its promise to the meadows,

Along with the rains or the weaving of the whirlwinds.

تَعاوَرَهُ العَصرانِ حَتّى كَأَنَّما

يُغَربَلُ أَعلى تُربِهِ بِالمَناخِلِ

The two ages have alternated upon it until it seems

As if the top of its earth is sifted through the sieves.

وَكُلُّ هَزيمِ الرَعدِ جَونٍ مُجَلجِلٍ

لَهُ هَيدَبٌ دانٍ مِن الأَرضِ هاطِلِ

And each rumble of thunder is a churning, rumbling

Cloud that has a creeping serpent extending from the ground.

فَلَستَ وَلَو أَنباكَ عَمَّن سَأَلتَهُ

سِوى حَزَنٍ مِنهُم طَويلٍ بِنائِلِ

So even if you call out, except for prolonged

Sorrow, you will get no answer from those you ask.

فَكُن حازِماً وَامنَح وَصالَكَ وَاصِلاً

لَكَ الخَيرُ وَاصرم حَبلَ مَن لَم يُواصِلِ

So be resolute, connect and make your visit a joining,

Goodness to you. And cut off whoever does not reciprocate.

فَقُلتُ لَهُ حُبُّ القَتُولِ وَتِربِها

رُضَيّا وَرَبِّ العَرشِ يا صاحِ قاتِلي

I said to him: The love of killing and its dust,

Contentment. And Lord of the Throne, O killer of me,

رُضَيّا رَمَت قَلبي فَلَم تَشوِ إِذ رَمَت

وَلَم تَرمِ مِن قَلبي قُلُوبَ الزَوائِلِ

Contentment. It has shot my heart but did not pass through

And did not shoot the hearts of the fickle ones.

بِعَيني مَهاةٍ لا بِقَوسٍ وَأَسهُمٍ

وَلا نَبلَ أَدهى مِن عُيُوِ العَقائِلِ

With the glance of death, not with a bow and arrows,

Nor an arrow more painful than the twisting of souls.

لِمَن بَعدَها أَهوى القَوافي وَأَمتَطي

جَوادي وَأَعصي لأَماتِ العَواذِلِ

For whom after her I love rhymed prose and mount

My steed and resist the slaying of the virgins.

وَأَسرى إِذا ما ذُو الهَوى هالَهُ السُرى

وَأُعمِلُ لَيلَ الناجِياتِ اليَعامِلِ

And I travel, when the beloved of passion makes me travel,

And I stay up late, under the working starry nights,

وَأَبكي مَع القَمريِّ ذي الشَجو بِالضُحى

إِذا هَتَفَ القُمرِيُّ أَو بِالأَصائِلِ

And I weep, in the early daybreak, with the lovesick one, the moon,

When the moon calls before dawn or at nightfall.