يَا صَاحِبيّ وَمَا البَخِيلُ بِصَاحِبِي

هَذِي الدِّيَارُ فَأَينَ تِلكَ الأَدمُعُ

O my friend, how ungenerous is my friend to me!

These are the abodes, so where are those tears?

أنَمُرُّ بِالعَرَصَاتِ لا نَبكِي بِهَا

وَهيَ المَنَازِلُ مِنهُمُ وَالأَربُعُ

We pass by the dwelling places and do not weep over them,

Yet they are the abodes of my people and the four.

هَيهَاتَ لا رِيحُ الصَّبَابَةِ بَعدَهُم

رَهوٌ ولا طَيرُ التَّشَوُّقِ وُقَّعُ

Alas! Neither the morning breeze nor the birds of yearning

Call after them, chirping.

حَلَفُوا عَلَى قَلبِي بِسِحرِ جُفُونِهِم

لا زَالَ يَنزِفُهُ الهَوَى وَيُصَدَّعُ

They swore by the magic of their eyelids on my heart

That desire continues to bleed it and shatter it.

وَأبَى الهَوَى إلاَّ الحُلُولَ بِلَعلَعٍ

وَيحَ المَطَايَا أينَ مِنهَا لَعلَعُ

Desire insisted on stirring restlessness in me,

As if saying: Where is the stirring from them?

لَم أَدرِ أينَ نَوَوا فَلَم أَسال لَهُم

رِيحاً تَهُبُّ ولا بَرِيقاً يَلمَعُ

I did not know where they went, so I did not ask the winds,

Blowing, or a lightning flash, gleaming, about them.

وَكَأنَّهُم فِي كُلِّ مَدرَجِ نَاسِمٍ

فَعَلَيهِ مِنهُم رِقَّةٌ وَتضَوُّعُ

As though they are, in every flowering meadow,

People of delicacy and tenderness over it.

وإذَا مَنَحتُهُمُ السلامَ تَبَادَرَت

تَبلِيغَهُ عَنِّي الرِّيَاحُ الأربَعُ

And if I bid them peace, the four winds hasten

To convey it from me to them.