شَمْسَ الأَصِيلِ تَرَفَّقِي بِفُؤَادِي

مَاذاَ جَلَبْتِ لَهُ مِنَ الأَنْكَادِ

O sun of the late afternoon, be gentle with my heart;

What sorrows have you brought upon it?

أَوْقَدْتِ نَارَ كآبَةٍ فِي أَضْلُعي

وَقَدَحْتِ زَنْدَ الشوْقِ فِي الأَكْبَادِ

You have kindled the fire of melancholy within my ribs,

And struck the flint of longing deep within my core.

لَمَّا نَشَرْتِ بُرُودَ تِبْرٍ بِالرُّبَى

وَبَسَطْتِ بُسْطَ التِّبْرِ فِي الأَنْجَادِ

When you spread cloaks of gold dust over the hills,

And unrolled carpets of gold across the highlands,

فَحَكَيْتِ يَوْمَ الوَصْلِ فِي رَأَدِ الضُّحَى

مَعَ الْغُرُوبِ حَكَيْتِ يَوْمَ بِعَادِي

You resembled the day of union in the radiance of mid-morning,

While at sunset, you resembled the day of my parting.