يَا رَعَى اللهُ لَيَالٍ قدْ خَلَتْ

كَلَآلٍ فِي سُلُوكٍ مِنْ نُضَارْ

O night the Lord has passed

May God watch over nights that have passed by,

Like blossoms in their prime of youth,

Like pearls strung upon threads of gold,

وَعُهُوداً سَلَفَتْ لِي بِالْحِمَى

فَسَقَى الْوَبْلُ الْحِمَى غَيْرَ مُضَارْ

And days gone by that were pledged to me,

And past times I spent in the sanctuary—

Where rain has watered the pledge none can alter,

May heavy rains water that haven without harm!

حَيْثُ لاَ هَمَّ وَلاَ غَمَّ سِوَى

رَنَّةِ الْعُودِ وَكَاسَاتٍ تُدَارْ

Where is neither care nor sorrow but only

Where there was no worry and no grief, save for

The tunes of the lute and passed cups

The twang of the lute and the cups passed around,

مِنْ عُقَارٍ كَنُضَارٍ أُفْرِغَتْ

فِي أَبَارِيقَ حَكَتْ شُهْبَ الدَّرَارْ

Of wine pure as blossoms poured

Of wine like liquid gold, poured

In flagons that mirror their sparkling red,

Into pitchers resembling gleaming shooting stars.

عَلِّلُوا قَلْبَ الشَّجِي مِنْ شُرْبِهَا

مَا أُحَيْلَى الشُّرْبَ مِنْ تِلْكَ الْعُقَارْ

Reproach the resolute heart for its drinking,

Soothe the anguished heart by drinking from it;

Though none can reproach such drinking of wine,

How sweet is the drinking of that wine!

مَعْ ظِبَاءٍ كَلِفَ الْقَلْبُ بِهِمْ

سَمَحُوا بِالْوَصْلِ مِنْ بَعْدِ نِفَارْ

With gazelles whose hearts we have won,

With gazelles with whom the heart is infatuated,

Who came back to us after estrangement,

Who permitted union after their long aversion,

فِي رِيَاضٍ كَزَرَابٍ نُمِّقَتْ

بِشَقِيقٍ كَعَقِيقٍ وَبَهَارْ

In gardens like carpets outspread,

Within gardens like embellished carpets,

With flowers like carnelians and all sweet herbs,

Woven with carnelian-like anemones and chamomile blooms.

أَأُرَى أَحْظَى بِوَصْلٍ بَعْدَمَا

بَعُدَتْ مِنْ طَاقَتِي تِلْكَ الدِّيَارْ

Shall I ever find, now those lands are far,

Will I ever attain such union again, after

Such joy in union as once was there?

Those lands have grown so distant from my reach?

فَعَلَى آرَامِهَا مِنْ مُدْنِفٍ

شَائِقٍ نَشْرُ سَلاَمٍ كَالْعَرَارْ

To those camps, from this saddened exile,

So upon its white antelopes, from a wasted lover,

I send, like the wind o'er meadows, my greeting!

Yearning, is the spreading of peace as fragrant as the desert arar.