جُفونٌ بها ما إنْ يُلِمُّ رُقادُها
لها أمَلٌ في الطّيفِ لوْلا سُهادُها
Her eyelids, when slumber visits them,
Harbor hope, were it not for her bashfulness.
مدامِعُها تُذْكي جَوَى القلبِ كلّما
تُعاهِدُهُ الذّكْرى تجودُ عِهادُها
Her tears rekindle the fervor of my heart
Whenever memories renew their covenant.
وإنّ التي قد هِمْتُ فيها صَبابةً
جَديدٌ إذا يَبْلَى الزّمانُ وِدادُها
And she whose love I pursued in my prime—
Her affection is ever new, though time wears away all things.
هيَ الشّمسُ في أفْقِ الفؤادِ طلوعُها
هيَ الظّبيُ ما بيْنَ الضّلوعِ مَرادُها
She is the sun rising in the horizon of my heart,
She is the gazelle between my ribs, my wish.
لقدْ جُمِعَتْ فيها المحاسِنُ كُلُّها
فصحّ بأشْتاتِ الجمالِ انفِرادُها
All beauty has gathered in her,
And in her singular charm, perfection is manifest.
لقد رقّ جسمي من هَواها فلَيْتَها
يَرقُّ لحالِ المسْتَهامِ فؤادُها
My body has become thin from passion for her. Would that
Her heart might feel for my distressed state!
رسائِلُ وجْدي صفحَةُ الخدِّ طِرْسُها
ودمْعي كما شاءَ الغَرامُ مِدادُها
The missives of my love are on her cheek,
My tears as my longing desired, her ink.
متَى بعُدَتْ عنّي أثيرٌ محلُّها
لديّ وفي قلْبي وثيرٌ مِهادُها
When she is far from me, she occupies my thoughts,
Near me, inside my heart—an ever-present shelter.
فَيا أيُّها القَلبُ المقلَّبُ في الجَوى
بمثْواكَ سُكْناها فكيفَ بعادُها
Oh heart tossed about in passion!
Your home is her peace. How, then, this estrangement?
ويا معْشَرَ العذّالِ كُفّوا فإنها
نُفوسٌ تَساوَى غيُّها ورَشادُها
And so, you reproachers, stop!
These souls are equal in their ignorance and wisdom.
دَعوها تهِمْ وجْداً بسَلْمى فإنّها
إذا خُيِّرتْ في الدّهْرِ فهْيَ مُرادُها
Let her dream passionately in tranquility,
For if she had a choice in this life, she would be mine.
تَميلُ بها الذّكْرى إلى زمَنٍ مضَى
على اللهِ في الرُجْعى إليْهِ اعتِمادُها
Memories incline toward a time now past.
My hope of returning there rests with God.
نَعمْ دولةُ العُشّاقِ هذِي وإنّني
كما قدْ علِمْتُمُ رُكْنُها وعِمادُها
The state of lovers is just so.
And as you know, she is my pillar and support.
ألا بأبي تِلكَ العُهودُ التي انقضَتْ
أيُرْجى وقدْ مرّتْ إليْنا مَعادُها
Oh, by he who passed those promises, now gone!
Can their fulfillment be hoped for when their time has ceased?
ولكنّها الأيّامُ تبْخَلُ بالمُنَى
عزيزٌ عليْها أن يُنالَ قِيادُها
Niggardly are the days with wishes fulfilled.
Rarely will Fate hand over its lead ropes.
فكمْ ليلةٍ بتْنا بوجْهِ نَديمِنا
وشمْسِ حُميّا الكاسِ يُجْلى سَوادُها
Many a night we spent with our friend
As the sun of our revelry faded, dimmed by the dark wine.
ونحنُ علي رغْمِ الحَسودِ نُديرُها
مُشَعْشعةً في الكاسِ يَبْدو اتّقادُها
And despite the envious we pass it merrily,
Ablaze in the wine-cup, the spark of its flame now kindled.
وجالتْ جيادٌ للكُؤوسِ سوابِقٌ
أقيمَ بميْدانِ السّرورِ طِرادُها
Horses raced to the wine-cups, vying in swiftness,
Striving in earnest at the race-course of joy.
فَفي أفُق الحالاتِ لاحَتْ بدورُها
وفي طلَقِ اللّذّاتِ جالَتْ جِيادُها
So her orbit appeared on the horizon,
And in the sphere of joys her steeds went galloping by.
فَيا ليتَها يوماً تَجودُ بعودةٍ
ويُمْكِنُ من بعدِ النّفارِ انقِيادُها
Would that one day she might generously return
And, estrangement past, her submission be won!
ولوْلا ابنَةُ الفِكْرِ التي وردَتْ ضُحىً
عليَّ وفي روضِ البَيانِ ارْتِيادُها
Had the daughter of thought not visited me at dawn—
So adept in the garden of eloquence her tread—
لما رامَتِ السّلْوانَ نفْسُ مُتيّمٍ
فغيْرُ التسلّي دينُها واعْتِقادُها
The soul of this despairing lover would not have sought
To replace sorrow as his faith and creed.
ومنْ شأنها بذْلُ المودةِ دائِماً
وما الوُدُّ إلا ذُخْرُها وعَتادُها
It is her way to give affection evermore.
Is not love her treasure and equipment?
أبا الفضْلِ بادِرْ بالجوابِ ضحَى غَدٍ
فإنّ بك الآدابَ وَارٍ زِنادُها
Abu al-Fadl, anticipate the morn with your reply!
For in you is the polish of literature, the flint of its spark.
ووَجِّهْ بها من خِدْرِ فِكْرِكَ غادةً
تروقُ جَمالاً لا يُرامُ عِنادُها
Launch thereby an arrow from your sturdy bow
That flies straight in beauty none can contend.
فإنّ المعاني كلّما رُمْتَ نَظْمَها
ليَسْبِقُ في شأوِ المَعالي جوادُها
For whenever you compose subtle thoughts in verse,
Your steed surpasses all in the arena of excellence.
أزاهِرُ نثْرٍ أينَ منها زُهَيْرُها
جواهِرُ نظمٍ أيْنَ منها زِيادُها
Prose blossoms—and what are they next to their garden?
Poetic pearls—and what are they alongside their string?
فما هذه إلا سِهامُ بَلاغةٍ
إذا سُدّدَت للرّمْي بانَ سَدادُها
These are but arrows of eloquence,
Finding their mark when rightly aimed.
وما هذه إلا غُصونُ يراعةٍ
إذا ثُقّفَتْ بالكَتْبِ خِيفَتْ صِعادُها
These are but saplings of tender growth
That bear fruit thickly when watered from books.
وما هذه إلا سُيوفُ بَراعةٍ
بعاتِقِ مَنْ يُهْدي جَوابي نِجادُها
These are but the swords of skill,
Bared in the hands of those who answer my lines with excellence.
