إذا المجرة مالت بعد تعديل — Al Sari Al Raffa

When the Milky Way tilts after lying straight,

And night tugs at an unjoined rope,

And the red-wattled one springs up, exhilarated,

Then takes fright at dawn's unsheathed sword,

When he sees it enfolding night, he holds it in awe,

So he returns from it crying 'God is greatest' and 'No god but God.'

Then he rises amid a band of his noble clan,

As though it were the clan of ʿAmr or Sharāḥīl.

It surpasses the Persians in crowns and traces its lineage

To India—what a noble breed that is!

Tucking up the excess folds of their patterned silk, letting hang

Their long earrings and crowns over themselves,

They step on rods of pure gold, compactly formed,

Neither approaching unbecoming shortness nor undue height.

When dew wets their brocade before dawn,

They walk among lush, dew-drenched blossoms.

So visit with us a house whose visitor prefers

Wearing bliss to wearing clothes.

A house where you see beauty freely offered; yet

Beyond it, beauty is guarded, not freely offered.

So let your gaze roam as you wish over a rump

Swelling, and a waist finely wrought like a bān-tree shoot,

And over upright bodies like a string of ivory,

That leave the eyes no need of the beauty of statues,

And over cheeks that came in gilded,

Then returned from it in burnished crimson.

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And sometimes your eyes behold there a young man,

Rose-red in his tunic, green in his trousers.

Its upper walls are crowned with figures;

And if it stands empty, it is still thickly peopled by them.

When we enter it, we add to its charms

And its fragrance, amid bliss that never wearies.

And when we leave, we shed the surplus of its bounty

From ourselves onto drying cloths and towels.

Until, once our bodies are soothed and have begun

To praise it for its unmistakable goodness,

We turn toward al-Milḥī's room, for there

Is a human gazelle, his anklets freely displayed.

We visit him while the remnants of night conceal us,

And find our way by a libertine there, himself far astray.

He pleases his drinking companion, and his courtesy wins approval

When he brings him something to drink and eat.

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And if a bashful man sees him, he says, 'Pour out

The cup of modesty with an embrace or a kiss.'

So, when I visited him, I visited his church's lamp;

For oil spreads the lights of lamps.

And stretch out your right hand to scratch his skin [meaning uncertain],

And his nape; no generous man is shackled.

And if he breathes, beware a thunderbolt from him

That strikes his companion dead; keep a mile away from him.