بَينَ المُدامِ وَبَينَ الماءِ شَحناءُ
تَنقَدُّ غَيظاً إِذا ما مَسَّها الماءُ
Between wine and water, a beauty
Between the vintage and the water breeds deep strife,
Who fumes with anger when touched by water
She bursts with rage the moment water touches her;
حَتّى تُرى في حَوافي الكَأسِ أَعيُنُها
بيضاً وَلَيسَ بِها مِن عِلَّةٍ داءُ
Until you see in the rims of the cup her eyes
Until her eyes are seen upon the vessel's rim,
White, with no defect or illness
White and bright, unblemished by disease.
كَأَنَّها حينَ تَمطو في أَعِنَّتِها
مِنَ اللَطافَةِ في الأَوهامِ عَنقاءُ
As if when she winks with her eyelids
As if, when stretching tight against her reins,
She is, from her subtlety, a gazelle of the imagination
She is a Phoenix, shaped by subtlety within the mind.
تَبني سَماءً عَلى أَرضٍ مُعَلَّقَةٍ
كَأَنَّها عَلَقٌ وَالأَرضُ بَيضاءُ
She builds a sky on suspended land
She builds a sky above a suspended earth,
As if she is a pendant and the land is white
As if she were crimson blood, and the land pure white.
نُجومُها يَقَقٌ في صَحنِها عَلَقٌ
يُقِلُّها مِن نُجومِ الكَأسِ أَهواءُ
Its stars are bubbles in her bowl, pendants
Her stars are dazzling white; within her bowl is ruby,
Dimmed by the stars of the cup, desires
Lifted by passions from the constellations of the cup.
جَلَّت عَنِ الوَصفِ حَتّى ما يُطالِبُها
وَهمٌ فَتَخلُفُها في الوَصفِ أَسماءُ
She transcended description until names
She transcends description, such that no illusion
Fall short of describing her
Can claim her, and names fall short of her truth.
تَقَسَّمَتها ظُنونُ الفِكرِ إِذ خَفِيَت
كَما تَقَسَّمَتِ الأَديانَ آراءُ
When she disappeared, thoughts divided her
Conjectures of thought divided her when she was veiled,
As opinions divided religions
Just as conflicting views have fractured faiths.
مِن كَفِّ ذي غَنَجٍ حُلوٌ شَمائِلُهُ
كَأَنَّهُ عِندَ رَأيِ العَينِ عَذراءُ
From the palm of one with soft cheeks, sweet is his image
From the hand of a charmer, sweet in disposition,
As if in the eye’s view, he is a virgin
Who appears to the beholder as a virgin maid.
لَهُ بَكَيتُ كَما يَبكي النَوى رَجُلٌ
عَلى المَعالِمِ وَالأَطلالِ بَكّاءُ
For him I cried as the palm tree stalk cries for
For him I wept, as a man weeps over distance,
An abode and ruins, a wailing weeper
Weeping for lost landmarks and ancient ruins.
