أخْجَلْتَ بالفرق جبينَ الصبَاحْ

يَا وجنةَ الورد وثغرَ الأقَاحْ

You have shamed the radiant morning with your beauty,

O rosy-cheeked one, garden of roses and apple blossoms!

أفْدِيهِ ظبياً مَا بَدَا وَجْهُهُ

إلاّ رَأيتُ البدرَ في الغصنِ لاَحْ

I would ransom him with a gazelle since his face appeared—

I saw the full moon shining in the boughs.

يَا عاذلي في الحبّ دَعْ من يَرَى

إفسادهُ في الحبّ عَيْنَ الصَّلاَحْ

O you who blame me for love, leave off blaming

The one who corrupts love and the well-meaning.

لَوْ كُنْتَ ذَا عقلٍ لَمَا لُمْتَ من

أمستْ تُغَازِيهِ العُيُونُ الوِقَاحْ

If you had any sense, you would not blame someone

Whose eyes have begun to flirt with you shamelessly.

أشكوكَ أمْ أشكُو عُيُونَ الظِّبَى

إنّي على الحَالَيْنِ شاكي السّلاحْ

Shall I complain of you or of the eyes of the gazelle

That attack me? I can complain of both.

في ضَيِّقِ الأجْفَانِ قَدْ أوْسَعُوا

في وصفِ عَيْنَيْه المِرَاضِ الصّحاح

In their narrow lids they have given free rein

To describe his languid eyes in exuberant terms.

إن مالَ هَزَّ الطرفُ بيضَ الظُّبَى

أو قالَ هَزَّ العطفُ سُمْرَ الرّمَاحْ

If he inclines his white cheek or says,

“The slender spears incline their necks,”

ظبيٌ بِصَادِ اللحظ قَدْ صَادَنِي

لكنْ خَلاَصِي مَدْحُ زَيْنِ المِلاَحْ

He is a gazelle who has hunted me with his glances,

But my salvation is to praise the beauty of Zain.

طه الذي بِالعَضْبِ أفْنَى العِدَى

لمّا التقى الجَمْعَانِ يومَ الكفَاحْ

Tah annihilated the enemies

When the two armies met in battle.

في قَسْطَلِ الهَيْجَا لَهُ هِمَّةٌ

أمضى من البيضِ الحِدَادِ الصّفَاحْ

At Caesarea he has a courage

Stronger than polished Indian steel.

مَا أرْعَدَ الهندِي فِي كفّهِ

إلا دَمُ الأبطالِ كالغيثِ سَاحْ

The Indian did not roar in his palm

Save that the blood of heroes flowed like rain.

ضَلَّتْ ظُبَاهُ في رؤوس العِدَى

لما دَعَا الدّاعي لِطُرْقِ النّجَاحْ

Their gazelles strayed amid the enemies’ heads

When the summoner called for the paths of salvation.

ليثُ الشرى في الحرب تِربُ الوفَا

غيثُ الندَى في السلمِ حلْفُ الكفاحْ

He is a lion of combat, nurtured in glory,

A raincloud of munificence in times of peace.

لَهُ يَدٌ حَمْرَاءُ يَوْمَ الوَغَى

لكنّهَا بيضاءُ عِنْدَ السَّمَاحْ

In battle his hand is red

But in pardon it is white.

صَلَّى عَلَيْهِ اللَّهُ مَا غَرّدَتْ

قُمْرِيَّةٌ بَاتَتْ تُطِيلُ النّوَاحْ

May Allah bless him! No bright-faced

Full moon has ceased wailing over him,

وَالآلِ وَالأصحابِ أهلِ التُّقَى

ما عَاقَبَ الديْجورَ ضَوْءُ الصّبَاحْ

And his Family and Companions, the people of piety,

As long as the morning light shames the lamps!