راعها منهُ صَمتُهُ ووجُومُهُ

وشَجاها شُحُوبُهُ وسُهومُهْ

She was alarmed by his silence and his gloom,

Distressed by his pallor and his absent gaze,

فأَمَرَّتْ كَفًّا على شُعْرهِ العا

ري برفقٍ كأَنَّها ستُنِيمُهْ

She passed a hand through his bare, uncovered hair,

So gently, as though to lull him into sleep.

وأَطَلَّتْ بوجهِها الباسِمِ الحلْ

وِ على خدِّه وقالتُ تَلُومُهْ

She leaned over with her sweet, smiling face,

Close to his cheek, and spoke in gentle reproach:

أَيُّها الطَّائرُ الكئيبُ تَغَرَّدْ

إنَّ شَدْوَ الطُّيورِ حلوٌ رَخِيمُهْ

"O melancholic bird, sing out your song,

For the song of the birds is sweet and mellow.

وأَجبْني فَدَتْكَ نفسيَ ماذا

أَمُصَابٌ أَمْ ذاك أَمرٌ ترومُهْ

Answer me—may my soul be a ransom for yours—

Is this a tragedy, or some quest you pursue?"

بل هو الفنُّ واكتئابهُ والفنَّ

ان جمٌّ أَحزانُهُ وهُمُومُهْ

"It is Art and its melancholy; for the Artist

Is burdened with bountiful sorrows and cares.

أَبداً يحملُ الوُجُودَ بما في

هِ كأَنْ لَيْسَ للوجودِ زعيمُهْ

Forever he carries Existence and all it holds,

As if the cosmos had no master but him."

خلِّ عبءَ الحَيَاةِ عنكَ وَهَيَّا

بمحيًّا كالصُّبحِ طَلْقٍ أَديمُهْ

"Cast off the burden of life, and come now,

With a countenance bright and open as the dawn.

فكَثيرٌ عليكَ أن تحمِلَ الدُّن

يا وتمشي بوقْرِها لا تَريمُهْ

It is too much for you to bear the whole world,

Walking beneath a weight you cannot shift.

والوُجُودُ العظيم أُقْعِدَ في الما

ضي وما أَنْتَ رَبُّهُ فَتُقِيمُهْ

This vast Existence was crippled in the past,

And you are not its Lord, to set it right.

وامش في روضَةِ الشَّبابِ طَروباً

فحواليكَ وردُهُ وَكُرومُهْ

Walk in the garden of Youth with a joyful heart,

Surrounded by its roses and its vines.

واتلُ للحبِّ والحَيَاةِ أَغاني

كَ وخلِّ الشَّقاءَ تدمَى كُلُومُهْ

Chant your songs for Love and for Life,

And leave Misery to bleed from its own wounds.

واحتضنِّي فإنَّني لكَ حتَّى

يتوارى هذا الدُّجى ونجومُهْ

Embrace me, for I am yours, until the time

When this darkness and its stars fade away.

ودَعِ الحُبَّ يُنْشِدُ الشِّعر للَّي

لِ فكم يُسكِرُ الظَّلامُ رَنِيمُهْ

Let Love recite its poetry to the night,

For how often the dark is drunk on its hum.

واقطفِ الوردَ من خدودي وجيدي

ونُهودي وافْعَلْ بهِ مَا تَرُومُهْ

Gather the roses from my cheeks and my neck,

And my bosom, and do with them as you desire.

إنَّ للبيتِ لهوَهُ النَّاعمَ الحلوَ

وللكونِ حربُهُ وهُمومُهْ

The home has its soft and sweet delights,

While the universe keeps its wars and its cares.

وارتشفْ من فمي الأَناشيدَ سَكرَى

فالهوى ساحرُ الدَّلالِ وَسيمُهْ

Sip from my mouth the drunken anthems,

For Passion is handsome, bewitching in charm.

وانسَ فيَّ الحَيَاةَ فالعمرُ قفرٌ

مرعبٌ إنْ ذَوَى وجَفَّ نَعيمُهْ

Forget life within me; for our span is a waste,

A terror, should its bliss wither and dry.

وارْمِ للَّيلِ والضَّبابِ بعيداً

فَنَّكَ العابسَ الكثيرَ وُجومُهْ

Cast far away, into the night and the fog,

Your frowning Art, so heavy with gloom.

فالهوى والشَّبابُ والمرحُ المع

سولُ تشدو أَفنانهُ ونَسِيمُهْ

For Passion, and Youth, and honeyed Joy,

Sing through the branches and the breeze.

هي فنُّ الحَيَاةِ يا شاعري الفنَّا

نَ بلْ لُبُّ فنِّها وصَمِيمُهْ

This is the Art of Life, O my artist poet,

Nay, it is the very core and heart of its art.

تِلْكَ يا فيلسوفُ فلسفَةُ الكوْ

نِ وَوَحْيُ الوُجُودِ هذا قَديمُهْ

That, O philosopher, is the philosophy of the cosmos,

And the revelation of Existence, ancient and true.

وهْي إنجيليَ الجَميلُ فصدِّقْ

هُ وإلاَّ فلِلغرامِ جَحِيمُهْ

It is my beautiful gospel, so believe in it,

Or else, Love shall surely have its hell."

فرماها بنظرةٍ غَشِيَتْها

سَكْرَةُ الحبِّ والأَسى وغيومُهْ

He cast her a glance that was flooded over

By the stupor of Love, and Sorrow's clouds.

وتلاها ببَسْمَةٍ رَشَفَتْها

منهُ سَكْرانَةُ الشَّبابِ رؤومُهْ

He followed it with a smile, which she sipped

From him, drunk on youth and tender care.

والتقتْ عندها الشِّفاهُ وغنَّتْ

قُبَلٌ أَجْفَلَتْ لديها همومُهْ

And then their lips met, and kisses sang,

Startling his worries until they fled.

مَا تريدُ الهُمومُ من عالَمٍ ضَا

ءَتْ مَسَرَّاتُهُ وغنَّتْ نجومُهْ

What do worries want with a world alight,

Where pleasures shine and stars have sung?

ليلةٌ أسبلَ الغرامُ عليها

سِحْرَهُ النَّاعمَ الطَّرِيرَ نعيمُهْ

A night where Passion has draped its veil,

Its soft magic, and its fresh delight.

وتَغَنَّى في ظلِّها الفَرَحُ الَّلا

هي فَجَفَّ الأَسى وخَرَّ هَشِيمُهْ

And playful Joy sang within its shade,

So Sorrow withered and crumbled to dust.

أغْرَقَ الفيلسوفُ فلسفَةَ الأَح

زانِ في بحرها فَمَنْ ذا يلومُهْ

The philosopher drowned the philosophy of grief

In her deep sea—so who is there to blame him?

إنَّ في المرأةِ الجميلَةِ سِحْراً

عبقريًّا يُذكِي الأَسى ويُنيمُهْ

For truly, in a beautiful woman lies a magic,

A genius that kindles sorrow, and lays it to sleep.