ليتَ لي أنْ أعيشَ في هذه الدُّنيا

سَعيداً بِوَحْدتي وانفرادي

Oh, if only I could live in this world

Oh, that I could live my days in this world,

Happy in my solitude and seclusion

Joyous in my solitude, content to be alone,

أصرِفُ العُمْرَ في الجبالِ وفي الغاباتِ

بَيْنَ الصّنوبرِ الميَّادِ

Spending my life in the mountains and forests

Spending a lifetime amidst the mountains and the woods,

Amongst the evergreen pines

Beneath the boughs of the swaying pine,

لَيْسَ لي من شواغلِ العيشِ مَا يصرف

نَفْسي عنِ استماع فؤادي

I have no worldly cares to distract

With none of life's burdens to turn,

My soul from listening to my heart

My spirit from listening to the whispers of my heart,

أرْقُبُ الموتَ والحياةَ وأصغي

لحديثِ الآزالِ والآبادِ

I observe death and life and listen

Observing death and life, while lending an ear

To the tales of the past and future

To the discourse of ancient times and eternities,

وأغنِّي مع البلابلِ في الغابِ

وأُصْغي إلى خريرِ الوادي

And sing with the nightingales in the woods

Singing alongside the nightingales of the grove,

And listen to the murmur of the valley

And hearkening to the valley's gentle purl,

وأُناجي النُّجومَ والفجرَ والأطيارَ

والنَّهرَ والضّياءَ الهادي

And converse with the stars, dawn, and birds

Communing with the stars, the dawn, and the birds,

The river and the gentle glow

The flowing river and the soft, guiding light,

عيشةً للجمال والفنّ أبغيها

بعيداً عنْ أمَّتي وبلادي

A life of beauty and art I seek

A life devoted to beauty and art is my desire,

Far from my people and homeland

Far removed from my nation and my land,

لا أُعَنِّي نفسي بأحْزانِ شعبي

فَهْوَ حيٌّ يعيش عيشَ الجمادِ

I do not burden myself with my people's sorrows

Not burdening my soul with the sorrows of my people,

For they are alive yet living like the dead

For they are living, yet exist like inanimate stone,

وبحسبي من الأسى مَا بنفسي

من طَريفٍ مسْتَحْدَثٍ وتَلاد

And the sadness in my soul is enough

Sufficient unto me is the grief I bear within,

Of newfound subtle anguish

Of sorrows both fresh and anciently deep,

وبعيداً عن المَدينةِ والنّاسِ

بعيداً عن لَغْوِ تِلْكَ النّوادي

And far from the city and the people

Far away from the city and the crowds,

Far from the nonsense of those circles

Far from the idle chatter of their gatherings,

فهوَ من مَعْدَنِ السَّخافةِ والإفْكِ

ومن ذلك الهُراء العادي

It is but foolishness and lies

For it is forged from the ore of folly and deceit,

And that habitual drivel

And composed of that common, senseless prattle,

أينَ هوَ من خريرِ ساقية الوادي

وخفْقِ الصَّدى وشدوِ الشَّادي

How far it is from the valley's flowing stream

How distinct from the murmur of the valley's brook,

And the rhythm of the echoes and the bard's song

The pulsing echo and the chanter's song,

وحفيفِ الغصونِ نمَّقها الطَّلُّ

وهَمْسِ النَّسيمِ للأولادِ

The rustling of branches caressed by the dew

The rustle of boughs embellished by the dew,

And the whispers of the breeze to the boys

And the breeze whispering secrets to the young ones,

هذه عيشةٌ تقدِّسُها نفسي

وأدعو لمجدها وأنادي

This is a life my soul sanctifies

This is the existence my soul holds sacred,

And for its glory I call and proclaim

For whose glory I pray and fervently call.