أتفنى ابتِساماتُ تِلْكََ الجفونِ

ويَخبو توهُّجُ تِلْكََ الخدودْ

Will the smiles of those eyelids vanish away?

And the glowing radiance of those cheeks dim?

وتذوي وُرَيْداتُ تِلْكَ الشِّفاهِ

وتهوي إلى التُّرْبِ تِلْكَ النَّهودْ

And the little roses of those lips wither?

And those bosoms sink into the dust?

وينهدُّ ذاك القوامُ الرَّشيقُ

وينحلُّ صَدْرٌ بديعٌ وَجيدْ

Will that graceful stature crumble down?

And a wondrous chest and neck dissolve?

وتربَدُّ تِلْكََ الوُجوهُ الصِّباحُ

وفتنةُ ذاكَ الجمال الفَريدْ

Will those radiant faces turn ashen gray?

Along with the charm of that unique beauty?

ويغبرُّ فرعٌ كجنْحِ الظَّلامِ

أنيقُ الغدائرِ جَعْدٌ مَديدْ

Will hair like the wing of darkness turn to dust,

Those elegant tresses, curly and long?

ويُصبحُ في ظُلُماتِ القبورِ

هباءً حقيراً وتُرْباً زهيدْ

Becoming, within the darkness of graves,

Wretched powder and insignificant soil?

وينجابُ سِحْرُ الغرامِ القويِّ

وسُكرُ الشَّبابِ الغريرِ السَّعيدْ

Will the magic of powerful love clear away,

And the intoxication of naive, happy youth?

أتُطوَى سَمواتُ هذا الوجود

ويذهبُ هذا الفضاءُ البعيدْ

Shall the heavens of this existence be folded up,

And this distant expanse depart forever?

وتَهلِكُ تِلْكََ النُّجومُ القُدامى

ويهرمُ هذا الزَّمانُ العَهيدْ

Will those ancient stars perish in the end,

And this age-old time itself grow senile?

ويقضي صَباحُ الحياةِ البديعُ

وليلُ الوجودِ الرهيبُ العتيدْ

Will the wondrous morning of life expire,

And the terrible, ready night of existence fall?

وشمسٌ توشِّي رداءَ الغمامِ

وبدرٌ يضيءُ وغيمٌ يجودْ

A sun that embellishes the cloak of clouds,

A full moon shining, and clouds bestowing rain,

وضوءٌ يُرَصِّع موجَ الغديرِ

وسِحْرٌ يطرِّزُ تِلْكَ البُرودْ

And light that encrusts the waves of the stream,

And magic that embroiders the spreading hills,

وبحرٌ فسيحٌ بعيدُ القرارِ

يَضُجُّ ويَدْوي دويَّ الوليدْ

A vast sea with a bottom deep and far,

Clamoring and echoing like the thunder's roar,

وريحٌ تمرُّ مُرورَ الملاكِ

وتخطو إلى الغابِ خَطْوَ الرُّعودْ

A wind that passes like the passage of an angel,

Then steps into the forest with the stride of storms,

وعاصفةٌ من نباتِ الجحيم

كأنَّ صَداها زَئيرُ الأسودْ

A tempest born from the plants of hell,

As if its echo were the roaring of lions,

تَعجُّ فَتَدْوي حنايا الجبال

وتمشي فتهوي صُخورُ النُّجودْ

It bustles, making the mountain bends ring out,

It walks, and the rocks of the highlands collapse,

وطيرٌ تغنِّي خِلالَ الغُصونِ

وتَهْتِفُ للفجرِ بَيْنَ الورودْ

Birds that sing amidst the branching boughs,

Cheering for the dawn amongst the roses,

وزهرٌ ينمِّقُ تِلْكََ التِّلالَ

ويَنْهَلُ من كلِّ ضَوءٍ جَديدْ

And flowers that adorn those rolling hills,

Drinking their fill from every new light,

ويعبَقُ منه أريجُ الغَرامِ

ونَفْحُ الشَّبابِ الحَيِيِّ السَّعيدْ

From which wafts the fragrant scent of love,

And the breath of shy, felicitous youth—

أيسطو على الكُلِّ ليلُ الفناء

ليلهو بها الموتُ خَلْفَ الوجود

Does the night of annihilation assault it all,

That Death may toy with it behind existence,

ويَنْثُرَها في الفراغِ المُخيفِ

كما تنثرُ الوردَ ريحٌ شَرودْ

And scatter it into the frightening void,

Just as a stray wind scatters the rose?

فينضُبُ يمُّ الحياةِ الخضمُّ

ويخمدُ روحُ الرَّبيعِ الوَلودْ

Does the vast, swelling sea of life run dry,

And the spirit of the fertile spring extinguish?

فلا يلثمُ النُّورُ سِحْرَ الخُدودِ

ولا تُنْبِتُ الأرضُ غضَّ الورودْ

So light no longer kisses the charm of cheeks,

And the earth grows no tender, fresh roses?

كبيرٌ على النَّفسِ هذا العفاءُ

وصَعْبٌ على القلبِ هذا الهمودْ

Heavy upon the soul is this obliteration,

And hard upon the heart is this stillness.

وماذا على القَدَر المستَمرِّ

لوِ اسْتمرَأ النَّاسُ طعمَ الخلودْ

What harm would come to continuous Fate,

If people savored the taste of immortality?

ولم يُخْفَروا بالخرابِ المحيط

ولم يُفْجَعوا في الحبيب الودودْ

And were not violated by surrounding ruin,

And were not bereaved of the loving beloved?

ولم يسلكوا للخُلود المرجَّى

سبيلَ الرّدى وظَلامَ اللّحودْ

And did not walk, toward hoped-for eternity,

The path of destruction and the darkness of graves?

فَدامَ الشَّبابُ وسِحْرُ الغرامِ

وفنُّ الرَّبيعِ ولُطفُ الورودْ

So that youth and the magic of love would last,

And the art of spring and the gentleness of roses,

وعاش الوَرَى في سلامٍ أمينٍ

وعيشٍ غضيرٍ رخيٍّ رغيدْ

And mankind would live in secure peace,

A life lush, easy, and pleasant?

ولكنْ هو القَدَرُ المستبدُّ

يَلذُّ له نوْحُنا كالنَّشيدْ

But it is tyrannical Fate,

Which delights in our wailing as if it were an anthem.

تَبَرَّمْتَ بالعيشِ خوفَ الفناءِ

ولو دُمْتُ حيًّا سَئمتَ الخلودْ

You complained of life for fear of annihilation,

Yet if you remained alive forever, you would tire of eternity,

وعِشْتَ على الأَرضِ مثل الجبال

جليلاً رهيباً غريباً وَحيدْ

And you would live upon the earth like the mountains,

Majestic, terrible, strange, and alone.

فَلَمْ تَرتشفْ من رُضابِ الحياة

ولم تصطَبحْ من رَحيق الوجودْ

You would not sip from the nectar of life,

Nor drink the morning draught of existence,

وما نشوةُ الحبِّ عندَ المحبِّ

وما سِحْرُ ذاك الرَّبيعِ الوليدْ

What is the ecstasy of love to the lover,

And what is the magic of that newborn spring?

ولم تدرِ مَا فتنةُ الكائناتِ

وما صرخَةُ القلبِ عندَ الصّدودْ

You would not know the charm of created beings,

Nor the scream of the heart when rejected,

ولم تفتكر بالغَدِ المسترابِ

ولم تحتفل بالمرامِ البعيدْ

You would not think of the uncertain tomorrow,

Nor care for the distant, ambitious goal.

وماذا يُرجِّي ربيبُ الخلودِ

من الكونِ وهو المقيمُ العهيدْ

What does the foster-child of eternity hope for

From the universe, being a permanent resident?

وماذا يودُّ وماذا يخافُ

من الكونِ وهو المقيمُ الأَبيدْ

What does he desire and what does he fear

From the cosmos, being an eternal dweller?

تأمَّلْ فإنَّ نِظامَ الحياةِ

نِظامٌ دقيقٌ بديعٌ فريدْ

Contemplate, for the system of life

Is a system precise, wondrous, and unique.

فما حبَّبَ العيشَ إلاَّ الفناءُ

ولا زانَه غيرُ خوفِ اللُّحودْ

Nothing endeared life to us but annihilation,

Nor did anything adorn it but the fear of graves.

ولولا شقاءُ الحياةِ الأليمِ

لما أَدركَ النَّاسُ معنى السُّعودْ

Were it not for the painful misery of life,

People would not grasp the meaning of joy.

ومن لم يرُعْهُ قطوبُ الدّياجيرِ

لَمْ يغتبط بالصَّباحِ الجديدْ

He whom the scowling darkness does not frighten

Will not rejoice in the new morning.

إِذا لم يكن مِنْ لقاءِ المنايا

مَناصٌ لمَنْ حلَّ هذا الوجودْ

If there is no escape from meeting death

For one who dwells in this existence,

فأيّ غِنَاءٍ لهذي الحياة

وهذا الصِّراعِ العنيفِ الشَّديدْ

Then what is the meaning of this life,

And this violent, intense struggle?

وذاك الجمالِ الَّذي لا يُملُّ

وتلكَ الأَغاني وذاك النَّشيدْ

And that beauty which never tires,

And those songs and that anthem?

وهذا الظَّلامِ وذاك الضِّياءِ

وتلكَ النُّجومِ وهذا الصَّعيدْ

And this darkness and that light,

And those stars and this earth?

لماذا نمرُّ بوادي الزَّمانِ

سِراعاً ولكنَّنا لا نَعودْ

Why do we pass through the valley of time,

Hurriedly, yet we never return?

فَنَشْرَبَ مِنْ كلِّ نبعٍ شراباً

ومنهُ الرَّفيعُ ومنه الزَّهيدْ

So we drink a draught from every spring,

Including the noble and the meager,

ومِنْهُ اللَّذيذُ ومِنْهُ الكَريهُ

ومِنْهُ المشِيدُ ومِنْهُ المبيدْ

The delicious and the hateful,

The constructive and the destructive?

ونَحْمِلُ عبْئاً من الذّكرياتِ

وتلكَ العهودِ الَّتي لا تعودْ

We carry a burden of memories,

And those covenants that do not return,

ونشهدُ أشكالَ هذي الوجوهِ

وفيها الشَّقيُّ وفيها السَّعيدْ

We witness the forms of these faces,

Among them the wretched and the happy,

وفيها البَديعُ وفيها الشَّنيعُ

وفيها الوديعُ وفيها العنيدْ

Among them the wondrous and the hideous,

Among them the meek and the stubborn,

فيُصبحُ منها الوليُّ الحميمُ

ويصبحُ منها العدوُّ الحقُودْ

So the intimate friend arises from them,

And the hateful enemy arises from them,

وكلٌّ إِذا مَا سألنا الحَيَاةَ

غريبٌ لعَمْري بهذا الوجودْ

And everyone, if we ask Life,

Is a stranger, by my life, in this existence.

أتيناه من عالمٍ لا نراه

فُرادى فما شأْنُ هذي الحقُودْ

We came to it from a world we do not see,

Alone; so what is the matter with these hatreds?

وما شأْنُ هذا العَدَاءِ العنيفِ

وما شأْنُ هذا الإِخاءِ الوَدودْ

And what is the matter with this violent enmity,

And what is the matter with this loving brotherhood?

خُلِقنا لنبلُغَ شأْوَ الكمالِ

وَنُصبح أهلاً لمجدِ الخُلُودْ

We were created to reach the peak of perfection,

And become worthy of the glory of eternity,

وتطهر أرواحنا في الحياة

بنار الأسى

And our souls are purified in life

By the fire of sorrow,

ونَكْسَبَ مِنْ عَثَراتِ الطَّريقِ

قُوًى لا تُهدُّ بدأْبِ الصُّعودْ

And we gain from the stumbles of the path

Strengths unbreaking in the toil of ascent,

ومجداً يكون لنا في الخلود

أَكاليلَ من رائعاتِ الوُرودْ

And a glory that will be for us in eternity

Like wreaths of magnificent roses.

خُلِقنا لنبلُغَ شأْوَ الكمالِ

وَنُصبح أهلاً لمجدِ الخُلُودْ

We were created to reach the peak of perfection,

And become worthy of the glory of eternity.

ولكنْ إِذا مَا لبسنا الخلودَ

ونِلنا كمالَ النُّفوسِ البعيدْ

But if we were to wear eternity,

And attain the distant perfection of souls,

فهلْ لا نَمَلُّ دَوَامَ البقاءِ

وهلْ لا نَوَدُّ كمالاً جديدْ

Would we not tire of lasting survival,

And would we not desire a perfection anew?

وكيف يكوننَّ هذا الكمالُ

وماذا تُراهُ وكيفَ الحُدودْ

And how would this perfection be?

What do you think it is, and where are the limits?

وإنَّ جمالَ الكمالِ الطُّموحُ

وما دامَ فكراً يُرَى من بعيدْ

Verily, the beauty of perfection is ambition,

As long as it remains a thought seen from afar.

فما سِحْرُهُ إنْ غدا واقعاً

يُحَسُّ وأَصبحَ شيئاً شهيدْ

So what is its magic if it becomes reality,

Felt, and becoming a witnessed thing?

وهلْ ينطفي في النُّفوسِ الحنينُ

وتُصبحُ أَشواقُنا في خُمودْ

Does nostalgia extinguish in the souls,

And do our longings turn to ash?

فلا تطمحُ النَّفْسُ فوقَ الكمالِ

وفوقَ الخلودِ لبعضِ المزيدْ

So the soul does not aspire beyond perfection,

And beyond eternity for some increase?

إِذا لم يَزُل شوقُها في الخلودِ

فذلك لعَمْري شقاءُ الجُدودْ

If its longing does not cease in eternity,

That, by my life, is the ancient misery,

وحربٌ ضروسٌ كما قَدْ عهدنُ

ونَصْرٌ وكسرٌ وهمٌّ مديدْ

And a fierce war, as we have known,

Victory, defeat, and extended worry.

وإنْ زالَ عنها فذاكَ الفناءُ

وإنْ كان في عَرَصَاتِ الخُلودْ

But if longing fades from it, that is true death,

Even if one stands in the courtyards of immortality.