وناطقةٍ كلَّما حُرّكتْ

وليستْ بناطقةٍ في السكونِ

She speaks whenever she is stirred,

Though silent when at rest unstirred,

تئِنّ إذا دارَ دُولابُها

فتُطرِبُ سامعَها بالأَنينِ

She moans when her wheel is turned,

Disturbing the hearer with her moan.

وتَبكي وليست بمحزونةٍ

بكاءَ المِحبِّ الكئِيبِ الحزِينِ

She weeps though not at all forlorn,

Weeping like a woeful lover lorn,

فتَنطِق بالصوتِ لا مِن فمٍ

وتَقذِف بالدَّمْعِ لا مِن جفون

She speaks with voice and not with mouth,

And sheds tears not from eyelids, lo!

كأنّ لها ميّتاً في الثَّرَى

فأدمُعُها هُمَّعٌ كلَّ حِينِ

As though she had one dead below,

Her tears in ceaseless torrents flow.

إذا زَمَرَت أطرَبتْ نفسَها

فغنّت بمختلِفاتِ اللُّحونِ

When she sings in various tone,

She enraptures her own self alone,

غِناءً يُرقِّص كِيزانهَا

ويُظهِر فِيهنّ وثبَ المجُونِ

Singing a song that makes her wheel

Whirl, and her madness reveal.

فتَهوي فَوارغَ في بِئرِها

وتصعَدُ مِنها مِلاءَ العيونِ

She pours her empty songs down her well,

And from it a tearful torrent well,

كأنّ مَدامِعَها فِضّةٌ

مذوّبةٌ لونُها أَسْمجُوني

Her tears are like molten silver, I ween,

Their hue is as pure white silver sheen.