فَما ظَبيَةٌ مِن ظِباءِ الحِسا

ءِ عَيطاءُ تَسمَعُ مِنها بُغاما

No doe among the does of al-Hasa,

long-necked, her soft lowing heard,

تُرَشِّحُ طِفلاً وَتَحنو لَهُ

بِحِقفٍ قَدَ أَنبَتَ بَقلاً تُؤاما

nursing a fawn and bending tenderly over it

on a sand ridge sprouting twin shoots,

بِأَحسَنَ مِنها غَداةَ الرَحي

لِ قامَت تُريكَ أَثيثاً رُكاما

is fairer than she was on the morning of departure,

when she stood showing you her luxuriant hair, massed high.

فَما كانَ حُبُّ اِبنَةِ الخَزرَجِي

يِ إِلّا عَناءً وَإِلّا غَراما

The love of the Khazraji’s daughter was nothing

but suffering, nothing but consuming passion.

فَهَل يُنسِيَن حُبَّها جَسرَةٌ

مِنَ الناعِجاتِ تُباري الزِماما

Can a stalwart she-camel make me forget her love—

one of the swift-paced, outstripping the rein?

كَأَنَّ قُتودي عَلى نِقنِقٍ

أَزَجَّ يُباري بِجَوٍّ نَعاما

As though my saddle-bars rested on a rangy male ostrich,

long-shanked, racing other ostriches across the open plain.

وَفي الأَرضِ يَسبِقُ طَرفَ البَصيرِ

فَبَينا يَعوجُ تَراهُ اِستَقاما

Across the earth it outruns the keen observer’s glance;

no sooner does it swerve than you see it straight again.

وَمَأقِطِ خَسفٍ أَقَمنا بِهِ

عَلى ضَنكِهِ خَشيَةً أَن نُلاما

At a battlefield of abasement we held our ground,

despite its straits, for fear that we should be blamed.

وَقَوماً أَبَحنا حِمى مَجدِهِم

وَكانوا لِمَن يَعتَريهِم سَناما

And a people—we laid open the sanctuary of their glory,

though to all who sought them they had been a pinnacle.

أَذاعَت بِهِم كُلُّ خَيفانَةٍ

طَروحٍ طَموحٍ تَلوكُ اللِجاما

Every lean, swift mare scattered them—

far-striding, high-headed, champing the bit.