خَلِيليَّ ما انْفَكَّ الأَسَى مُنذُبينهِم

حَبِيبي حتَّى حَلَّ بالقَلْبِ فاخْتَطَّا

My beloved, grief has not ceased since we parted

My love, until it settled in my heart, perplexed

أُرِيدُ دُنُوّاً من خَلِيلي وقد نأَى

وأَهْوَى اقْتراباً مِن مَزارٍ وقد شَطَّا

I wish to be near my beloved though he is distant

And I yearn to visit his shrine though it is far

وإِنِّي لَتَعْرُونِي الهُمُوم لذِكْرِكُم

هُدُوّاً فلا أَسطِيعُ قَبْضاً ولا بَسْطَا

Worries overwhelm me when I think of you all

Lost, unable to grasp or let go

وإِنَّ هُبُوطَ الوادِيَيْنِ إِلى النَّقَا

بحَيْثُ الْتَقَى الجَمْعَانِ واسْتَقْبَل السَّقْطَا

The descent of the two valleys to the meadow

Where the two crowds gathered and faced the falling

لِمَسْرَحِ سِرْبٍ ما تَقَرَّى نِعَاجُهُ

بَرِيراً ولا تَقْرُو جَآذِرُهُ خَمْطَا

A theater for a flock whose ewes did not bleat

Nor their shepherd caw hoarsely

ومُرْتجِزٍ أَلْقَى بِذِي الأَثْلِ كَلْكَلاً

وحَطَّ بجَرْعَاءِ الأَبَارِقِ ما حَطَّا

Where the ankleted one tossed pebbles

And landed on the lightning flames below

سَعَى في قِيادِ الرِّيحِ يَسْمَحُ للصَّبا

فأَلْقَتْ على غَيْرِ التِّلاعِ بِهِ مِرْطَا

He hurried to guide the wind, humoring the morning breeze

Which cast him, not on barren ground, tossed about

وما زالَ يُرْوِي التُّرْبَ حَتَّى كَسا الرُّبى

دَرانِكَ والغِيطانَ مِن نَسْجِهِ بُسْطَا

He watered the soil until it covered the vegetation

And meadows with what his cloth had woven

وعَنَّتْ له رِيحٌ تُسَاقِطُ قَطْرَهُ

كما نَثَرَتْ حَسْنَاءُ مِن جيدهَا سِمْطَا

A wind assisted him, dropping his rain

As a beauty scattered locks from her braid

ولَم أَرَ دُرّاً بَدَّدَتْهُ يَدُ الصَّبا

سِواهُ فباتَ النَّوْرُ يَلْقُطُهُ لَقْطَا

I saw no pearl the morning breeze had scattered

Except it, so the light picked it up completely

وبِتْنَا نُرَاعِي اللَّيْلَ لم يَطْوِ برْدَهُ

ولَم يَجْرِ شَيْبُ الصُّبْحِ في فَرعِهِ وخْطَا

We spent the night, its cold did not diminish

Nor did the gray of dawn flow through its branches

تَراهُ كَمَلْكِ الزَّنْجِ في فَرْطِ كِبْرِهِ

إِذا رامَ مَشْياً في تَبَخْتُرِهِ أَبْطَا

You see it like the black king in the prime of his age

When he walked proudly in his conceit

مُطِلاً على الآفَاقِ والبَدْرُ تاجُهُ

وقد عَلَّقَ الجَوْزاءَ في أُذْنِهِ قُرْطَا

Gazing at the horizons, the crescent his crown

Having hung earrings in his ears