أَتَلُومُنِي يَا عَاذِلِي

فِي حُسْنِ هَاتِيكِ الْقَطَائِفْ

Do you blame me, O reproacher

Do you blame me, O my censurer,

For the beauty of these gazelles

For the beauty of those velvety Qatayef,

وَالطَّيْرُ مُذْ بَرَزَتْ لَهُ

غَرِدٌ عَلَى الأَدْوَاحِ هَاتِفْ

When the birds since they appeared to him

When the bird, since they appeared to it,

Chirp on the hills calling

Sings upon the great trees, calling aloud,

مُتَرَنِّمٌ كَلَفاً بِهَا

طَرِبٌ عَلَى الأَفْرَاحِ عَاكِفْ

Singing enchanted by them

Chanting in deep infatuation with them,

Enraptured by joy steadfast

Joyous, devoted entirely to delights,

وَالْغُصْنُ أَوْمَأَ رَاكِعاً

لِجَمَالِهَا لَدْنَ الْمَعَاطِفْ

And the branch bowed down

And the branch has nodded, bowing down

To their beauty gently swaying

To their beauty, supple in its curving bends.

خَلَعَ الرَّبِيعُ عِذَارَهُ

فِيهَا فَأَبْدَعَ فِي اللَّطَائِفْ

Spring has shed its cover

Spring has cast off its bridle

And excelled in crafting beauty

Amidst them, thus crafting wondrous subtleties,

بِبَهَارِهَا مُتَقَيِّئٌ

بِشَقَائِقِ النُّعْمَانِ رَاعِفْ

Adorned with its blossoms

Spewing forth its yellow daisies,

With anemones proliferating

And bleeding crimson with anemones,

مَا بَيْنَ أَصْفَرَ فَاقِعٍ

فِي أَحْمَرٍ غَضِّ الْمَقَاطِفْ

What lies between yellow ripened

Between a bright and vivid yellow

In red fresh picked

And a red of freshly plucked blooms,

فِي وَسْطَ أَخْضَرَ يَانِعٍ

لِلَوَاحِظِ الأَبْصَارِ خَاطِفْ

Amidst green lush

Amidst a lush and ripening green

For the beholder's eyes seizing

Snatching away the gazing eyes.

عَرِّجْ عَلَيْهَا إذِ ْ بِهَا

مَا أَعْجَبَ الصَّبَّ الْمُلاَطِفْ

Stroll by them for with them

Stop by them, for indeed within them

Most wondrous is the youth flirting

Is what astounds the tender lover,

لاَ سِيَّمَا عِنْدَ الأَصِي

لِ فَحُسْنُهَا السُّلْوَانَ قَاطِفْ

Especially by the evening

Especially at the fading twi-

For their beauty the glow attracting

-light, for their beauty plucks away all solace,

وَالشَّمْسُ تَرْقُمُ مَتْنَهَا

بِنُضَارِهَا رَقْمَ الْمَطَارِفْ

And the sun sketches their form

And the sun embroiders their surface

With its radiance tracing the outlines

With its pure gold, like the embroidery of rich cloaks.