يا راكِباً وَاللِوى شَمالٌ

عَن قَصدِهِ وَالغَضا يَمينُ

O rider, turning left,

Straying from his path, going right,

نَجداً عَلى أَنَّهُ طَريقٌ

تَقطَعُهُ لِلصِّبا عُيونُ

It's a road to Najd, as if

Eyes have crossed it, blown by the northern wind.

وَحَيِّ عَنّي إِن جُزتَ حَيّاً

أَمضى مَواضيهُمُ الجُفونُ

Greet them for me if you pass by greetings,

Their eyelids have walked its meadows.

وَقِل عَلى أَيكَةٍ بِوادٍ

لِلوُرقِ في قُضبِها حَنينُ

And say, by a valley’s tamarisk:

The leaves in its twigs murmur.

يا أَيكُ لا يَدَّعي حَمامٌ

ما يَجِدُ الشَيِّقُ الحَزينُ

O tamarisk, no pigeon claims

What the fervent, sad one finds.

لَو أَنَّ بِالوُرقِ ما بِقَلبي

لَاِحتَرَقَت تَحتَها الغُصونُ

If leaves felt what’s in my heart

The branches would burn beneath them.