وَلا كَالرُصافَةِ مِن مَنزِلِ

سَقَتهُ السَحائِبُ صَوبَ الوَلي

Not like the fertile meadow where

The clouds pour down towards the valley,

أَحِنُّ إِلَيها وَمَن لي بِها

وَأَينَ السَرِيُّ مِنَ المَوصِلِ

I yearn for it though who is there for me

And where is the traveler from the journey’s end?