أَلا سَرَتِ القَبولُ وَلَو نَسيما

وَجاذَبَني الشَبابُ وَلَو قَسيما

Alas, joy has slipped away, though it were but a breeze,

And youth has enticed me, though it gave but little ease,

وَطالَعَني الظَلامُ بِهِ خَيالاً

فَأَقبَلَ ناظِري وَجهاً وَسيما

And darkness has mocked me with its phantom sight,

Turning my gazing eyes to a graceful face.

تَقَضّى غَيرَ لَيلٍ ماتَقَضّى

كَأَنَّ بِمَضجَعي فيهِ سَليما

One night has granted what many could not grant

As if in my bed there lay with me one chaste and slim.

أُصانِعُ طَرفاً قَد تَجافى

غِرارَ النَومِ أَو قَلباً أَليما

I court eyes that have turned away,

Deceiving sleep or a woeful heart.

كَأَنّي ما أَلِفتُ بِهِ شَفيعاً

هُناكَ وَلا طَرِبتُ لَهُ نَديما

As though I have found no intercessor I knew before

There, nor a boon companion to cheer my longing whim,

فَمَهما شاقَ مِن بَرقٍ مَليحٍ

أَرِقتُ لَهُ أُناجيهِ كَليما

So however bright the lightning may gleam,

I stay awake conversing with it, a constant friend.

وَأَسأَلُ هَل سَقى طَلَلاً بِحَزوى

عَفا قِدماً وَهلَ جادَ الغَميما

And I ask, “Has it watered the traces left in Huzwa,

Has the rain been bountiful and the clouds brim?”

وَأَنشَقُ لَوعَةً لِعَرارِ نَجدٍ

صَبا نَجدٍ أُسائِلُها شَميما

I spill my woes for the ruins of Najd,

The morning breeze of Najd I ask for news of him.

وَكُنتُ رَجَوتُ أَن أَعتاضَ مِنهُ

زَعيماً أَو عَليماً أَو حَليما

I had hoped to find him a leader, wise or forbearing,

But when I looked on nights that had gone

وَلَمّا أَن نَظَرتُ مَعَ اللَيالي

فَلَم أَنظُر بِها إِلّا مُليما

I saw none but the vile, the vulgar and malign,

A fool, a fraud, a fake, a wicked and mean churl.

عَباماً أَو كَهاماً أَو جَهاماً

لَئيماً أَو ذَميماً أَو زَنيما

I was harsh with the rhymes—for a noble man

Does not permit mean words to besmirch his pearl.

شَدَدتُ عَلى القَوافي كَفَّ حُرٍّ

كَريمٍ لا يُسَوِّغُها لَئيما

So my poetry takes flight only for one who is ardent, loving or intimate,

Gallant, generous, or one gracious and sublime,

فَما أُطري إِذا أَطرَيتُ إِلّا

حَمِيّاً أَو حَبيباً أَو حَميما

Whom I strip bare as a polished sword when inspired,

And mount like a noble steed when filled with reason and rhyme,

وَمَطروراً أُجَرِّدُهُ صَقيلاً

وَيَعبوباً أَُكَرِّبُهُ كَريما

When nightly misfortunes turn me to him

I do not cede him save as a close friend.

إِذا أَقبَلتُهُ سُمرَ العَوالي

فَلَستُ أَرُدُّهُ إِلّا كَليما

The foe has turned like a wind on a ruin

Blowing debris and kindling a glowing ember’s glint.

وَقَد لَفَّ العَدُوَّ كَأَنَّ ريحاً

عَلى شَرَفٍ تَلُفُّ بِهِ هَشيما

Behind the fires it flaunts its lightning flash

Radiant, though clothed in a cloak that is worn and thin.

يَشيمُ بِهِ وَراءَ النَقعِ بَرقاً

تَأَلَّقَ شُهبَةً وَصَفا أَديما

Whenever darkness makes me tread on its heels

I dispel the gloom—so black, so dim.

إِذا أَوطَأتُهُ أَعقابَ لَيلٍ

طَرَدتُ مِنَ الظَلامِ بِهِ ظَليما