أَرسِلي بِالسَلامِ يا سَلمَ إِنّي

مُنذُ عُلَّقتُكُم غَنِيٌّ فَقيرُ

Send my greetings, O branch, for since

I hung upon you, I've been rich yet poor.

فَالغِنى إِن مَلَكتُ أَمرَكِ وَالفَق

رُ بِأَنّي أَزورُ مَن لا يَزورُ

Rich, in that I possess your being; poor

In that I visit one who comes no more.

وَيحَ نَفسي تَسلوا النُفوسُ وَنَفسي

في هَوى الريمِ ذِكرُها ما يَحورُ

Ah, my soul finds rest by soothing souls,

While for Rim's love my soul is evermore

مَن لِنَفسٍ تَتوقُ أَنتِ هَواها

وَفُؤادٍ يَكادُ فيكِ يَطيرُ

Aflame. For one whose soul, like mine, aspires,

And heart, like mine, in you would fly and soar...