حيت سفرتي من نداك المديد

وخيل البريد منى المستزيد

When my journey took me far from your outstretched hand

And the post horses carried me further away

فيا لك خانية بابها

إلى الشامِ يفضي لباب البريد

Oh house of the courier, whose door

Opens onto Damascus, the door of the post

يقول بنيّ إذا ما منحت

أسيدَنا دُمْ لهذي العبيد

My sons say, if our master would grant

Blood to these slaves

بوالدِنا غيبة يا له

حبيباً لهم غائباً عن وليد

In the absence of our father, oh if only

He had a loving one absent from his child

ويشتاقُ أبناؤه والبنات

وصاحبة البيت بيت القصيد

His children and daughters long for him

As does the lady of the house, home of poetry

نأى بيتها ونأى ذهنه

كما قد نأى عنهُ بيت النشيد

Her home is far, and his mind is far

As the home of verse has gone far from him

فغِث وأغث مغرماً وابْقَ ذا

نوالٍ بسيطٍ وفضلٍ مديد

Come to the aid of a passionate lover, and come to the aid

Of one accustomed to simple plenty and abundant merit