رَقَمَ الغيمُ عَلَى رَدْنِ الصَّبَا
بِسَنَا البَرْقِ طِرَازاً مُذْهَبَا
The clouds were embroidered on the cheek of the morning breeze
With lightning flashes of exquisite gold embroidery.
وَانْتَضَى البَدْرُ حُسَامًا لاَمِعًا
مُذْ رَأى اللَّيْلُ سَنَاهُ احْتَجَبَا
The full moon unsheathed a gleaming sword
When the night saw its blade it hid itself.
وَانْقَضَى الطيْفُ لِنَحْوِي مُذْ رَأى
فَوْقَ خَدِّي الدمعَ أذْكَى لَهَبَا
My darling's image came to me, and when
It saw above my cheek a teardrop flare up like fire,
وَرَقَى الطيْرُ عَلَى منبره
فَتَشَكَّى الوجدَ لَمَّا خَطَبَا
It flew to the pulpit of my heart,
And there it moaned, writhing in passion’s agony.
يَا لَقَوْمِي مَنْ مُجِيرِي من رَشًا
يَفْتِنُ العُجْمَ وَيَسْبِي العَرَبَا
O my people! Who will protect me from evil
That seduces the foreigner and makes captive the Arab?
إنْ تَثَنَّى هَزَّ رمحًا قدُّهُ
أوْ رَنَا سَلَّ من اللحظ ظُبَى
If he inclines his spear, its nobility bows,
Or casts from his eyelashes a dart, wild cattle stampede.
كَيْفَ أجْنِي وردَ خَدَّيْهِ وَهَا
عقربُ الصدغِ لِقَلْبِي لَسَبَا
How can I pluck the rose of his cheek, when
The scorpion of his locks stings my heart?
قَمَرٌ لاَحَ لِعَيْنِي نُوره
وَبِقَلْبِي غَابَ لَمَّا غَربَا
The moon of his face shone its light into my eyes,
Then set in my heart when it reached its west.
تُشْرِقُ الشَّمْس بِخَدَّيْهِ إذَا
خَيَّمَ الشَّعْرَ وَمَدَّ الطُّنُبَا
The sun rises in his cheeks when the hair
Hangs down and the side curls extend.
وَتَرَى البَدْرَ عَلَى غُصْنِ النَّقَا
يظهر الحسنَ وَيُبْدِي العَجَبَا
You see the full moon on the branch of coquetry
Revealing beauty and creating wonder.
ثَغْره المَعْسُول فِيهِ رِيقَةٌ
لَيْسَ إلاَّ الرَّاحَ شَابَ الضَّرَبَا
His rosy wet lips where is a spittle
Like nothing but a gentle breeze that stirred the pools.
رَبِّ مَا أبْدَعَ هَذاَ الثَّغْرَ إذْ
أظْهَرَ الدُّرَّ لِعَيْنِي شَنَبَا
O Lord! How wondrous is the creation of this mouth,
Which revealed to my eyes a scatter of pearls!
خَبِّرِيهِ يَا نَسِيمَ الرَّوْضِ عَنْ
مُدْنَفٍ قَدْ شَفَّ وَجْداً وَصَبَا
Tell him, O morning breeze of the garden, about
A love-crazed one who raved in passion and wasted away.
إنَّه فِي حَرَبٍ لَكِنَّه
كَمْ يُنَادِي فِي الهَوَى وَاحَرَبَا
He is at war, but how often in love he cried out
And kindled confusion and ignited flames!
