كفَى حَزَناً بأن تمضي الليالي
وليس إِلى لقائكُمُ سبيلُ
Sorrow enough: the nights pass away,
and there is no road to meeting you.
أعيشُ تجلُّداً وأموتُ شوقاً
وحظِّي منكمُ أبداً قليلُ
I live, feigning fortitude, and die of longing,
while my share of you is forever scant.
إِذا العذبُ الزلالُ كَرعتُ فيهِ
شَرِقْتُ بهِ ولم يُروَ الغليلُ
Whenever I dip my mouth into sweet, limpid water and drink,
I choke on it, and it does not quench my burning thirst.
ألا من للغريب يَنالُ منه
جوىً ما بين أضلعِه دخيلُ
Ah, who will aid the exile, whom there assails
a deep-seated anguish lodged between his ribs?
يحِنُّ إِذا الحَمامُ الوُرقُ حنَّتْ
ويطرَبُ كلّما هبّت قَبُولُ
He yearns whenever the dusky doves coo,
and is stirred whenever the east wind blows.
ويطوي صبرَهُ ريحٌ شَمالٌ
وينشُرُ وجدَهْ راحٌ شَمولُ
The north wind folds away his patience,
and all-pervading wine unfolds his passion.
وإنَّ بمسقطِ العلمين ماءً
نميراً دونَهُ ظِلٌّ ظليلُ
Indeed, at the foot of the Two Landmarks lies water—
fresh and abundant—with deep shade before it,
حمام ليس لي فيهنَّ وردٌ
وظلٌّ ليس لي فيه مَقِيلُ
and doves, though among them I have no access to the water,
and shade, though in it I have no place to rest at noon.
Sol 5.6