أَيُحجَبُ عَن عَينَيَّ نُورُ مُحَيّاه

وَيُمنَعُ قَلبِي أَن يَهِيمَ بَذكراهُ

Is the light of his beauty hidden from my eyes?

Is my heart forbidden to yearn for his memory?

وَتَأمُرُ أَن أَنسى هَواهُ وَكَيفَ لِي

بِنِسيانِ شَخصٍ في فُؤادِيَ مَثواهُ

You order me to forget his love, but how can I forget

One whose home is in the center of my heart?

خَلَعتُ عِذاري في عِذارٍ مَتى أُلَم

يُقِم لِيَ أَعذارَ الهَوى حُسنُ مَرآهُ

I have shed my chastity for one whose chastity, when pained,

Presents to me chaste excuses for passion’s beauty.

وَلَستُ وَإِن خاطَرتُ فِيهِ بِمُهجَتي

بِأَوَّلِ مَن قادَتهُ لِلحَتفِ عَينَاهُ

And though I risk my reputation for him,

I’m not the first led to danger by her eyes for him.

خَلِيلَيَّ ما أَبقى الهَوى مِن أَخِيكِما

سِوى رَمَقٍ وَلتَعجَبا كَيفَ أَبقاهُ

My two friends, of your love nothing remains

Except a gasp. How strange that it remains!

أَلا فانظُرا في أَمرِهِ وَتَوَسَّلا

لِمُتلِفِهِ شَوقاً عَسى يَتَلافاهُ

Come look into his condition and intercede

For one longing and hoping to find healing.

خُذا لِيَ مِنهُ العَفو إِن كانَ قاتِلي

وَلا تَعتِباهُ وَاسأَلا مِنهُ عُتباهُ

Take from him for me pardon, if I’m his killer,

And don’t reproach him, but ask him for his reproach.

وَقُولا عَليلاً في يَدَيك شِفاؤُهُ

قَضى نَحبَهُ لَكِنَّ قُربَكَ مَحياهُ

Say a sick man lies in your hands, his cure is your nearness,

He’s at death’s door, but your approach is his life.

بَكى وَشَكا لَو كُنتَ تَرثِي لِدَمعِهِ

وَتَثنِيكَ نَحوَ العَطفِ رِقَّةُ شَكواهُ

He wept and complained—if only you pitied his tears,

And if only the softness of your nature bent toward his plaint!

بِنَفسِيَ مَن بَيني وَبَينَ جُفونِهِ

ذِمامُ اِشتِراكِ السُقمِ لَو كانَ يَرعاه

By my life! If we shared the bonds of sickness,

I would have the right to watch over him.

دَعاني لِحَفظِ العَهدِ ثُمَّ أَضاعَهُ

وَعَلّمَني ذِكرَ الهَوى وَتَناساهُ

He called me to keep the vow, then forgot it,

Taught me to remember passion, then neglected it.

نَصِيبِيَ مِنهُ أَن تُخَيِّلَهُ المُنى

لِفِكري وَحَظّي مِنهُ أَنيَ أَهواهُ

My fate is that he makes my imagination pretend,

While my fortune is that I love him.