ما لي بِدارٍ خَلَت مِن أَهلِها شُغُلُ

وَلا شَجاني لَها شَخصٌ وَلا طَلَلُ

A home abandoned by its people holds no charm for me

I have no concern for a dwelling emptied of its people,

No friend mourns it, no ruins mark where it used to be

Nor am I saddened by any figure or crumbling ruin within it.

وَلا رُسومٌ وَلا أَبكي لِمَنزِلَةٍ

لِلأَهلِ عَنها وَلِلجيرانِ مُنتَقَلُ

No vestiges remain for me to weep, no traces stay

I am not moved by traces, nor do I weep for a campsite

Of neighbors gone or home folk moved away

From which the family and neighbors have long departed.

وَلا قَطَعتُ عَلى حَرفٍ مُذَكَّرَةٍ

في مِرفَقَيها إِذا اِستَعرَضتَها فَتَلُ

No winding path by which my memory strays

I have not traversed the waste upon a lean, masculine she-camel,

On a barren desert spot where once it lay

Whose elbows, were you to inspect them, show a sturdy twist.

بَيداءَ مُقفِرَةً يَوماً فَأَنعَتَها

وَلا سَرى بي فَأَحكيكِ بِها جَمَلُ

No year I spent with it, and summer overtook me there

Crossing a desolate desert for a day, that I might describe it,

No campsite where my tribe pitched tents with love and care

Nor did a camel carry me through the night, that I should recount its tale to you.

وَلا شَتَوتُ بِها عاماً فَأَدرَكَني

فيها المَصيفُ فَلي عَن ذاكَ مُرتَحَلُ

Sorrow itself cannot look out from my eyes and know

I did not spend a winter there for a year, only to be overtaken

Nor can the hills and plains discern my inner woe

By the summer heat within it, forcing my departure from that place.

وَلا شَدَدتُ بِها مِن خَيمَةٍ طُنُباً

جارى بِها الضَبُّ وَالحِرباءُ وَالوَرَلُ

I mourn no meadow save what once I saw therein

I have never tightened the rope of a tent therein,

A castle lofty-towered, with palms close nestled in

Where the spiny-tailed lizard, the chameleon, and the monitor lizard scurry.

لا الحَزنُ مِنّي بِرَأيِ العَينِ أَعرِفُهُ

وَلَيسَ يَعرِفُني سَهلٌ وَلا جَبَلُ

So you may know me if you really try,

I know not the rugged terrain by the sight of my eye,

And tell others too if they should ask of I

And neither the plain nor the mountain is acquainted with me.

لا أَنعَتُ الرَوضَ إِلّا ما رَأَيتُ بِهِ

قَصراً مِنيفاً عَلَيهِ النَخلُ مُشتَمِلُ

Palms when their beauty's garments are laid bare

I describe no garden unless I have seen within it

Show clusters hung that draw the bees' buzz there

A lofty palace, encompassed by embracing palm trees.

فَهاكَ مِن صِفَتي إِن كُنتَ مُختَبِراً

وَمُخبِراً نَفَراً عَنّي إِذا سَأَلوا

Beneath their drooping fronds lie glistening pearls

So take this from my description, if you seek to test me,

In order strewn, linked like necklaces of girls

And to inform the people about me, should they ask:

نَخلٌ إِذا جُلِيَت إِبّانَ زينَتِها

لاحَت بِأَعناقِها أَعذاقُها النُحُلُ

An artful plucker knows their ways and picks with care

Palm trees which, when unveiled in the season of their adornment,

Maidens' robes slip off, their anklets show them bare

Reveal upon their necks their slender, hanging clusters.

أَسقاطُ عَسجَدِهِ فيها لَآلِئُها

مَنضودَةٌ بِسَموطِ الدُرِّ تَتَّصِلُ

He plucks the first and last and leaves no fruit to spare

Like scraps of gold within, where their pearls

By dawn, the palms are filled with seeds beyond compare

Are arranged in connected strings of precious gems.

يَفتَضُّها فَطِنٌ عِلجٌ بِها خَبِرٌ

فَضَّ العَذارى حُلاها الرَيطُ وَالحُلَلُ

No maiden shunned him for modesty or shame

A clever, strong husbandman, experienced in their ways, pierces them,

No bride gift asked, no reason could defame

Deflowering virgins whose ornaments are fine robes and raiment.

فَاِفتَضَّ أَوَّلَها مِنها وَآخِرَها

فَأَصبَحَت وَبِها مِن فَحلِها حَبَلُ

The buds take in, the fronds spread free and wide

He pollinates the first and the last of them,

Their catkins scatter, by the wind they glide

Until she becomes heavy with child from her stallion.

لَم تَمتَنِع عِفَّةً مِنهُ وَلا وَرَعاً

بِلا صَداقٍ وَلَم يوجَد لَها عَقَلُ

For two months gently nursed, those clusters bide

She refused him not out of chastity, nor out of piety,

Then loosen strands of gleaming gems inside

Demanding no dowry, nor was any blood-money required for her surrender.

حَتّى إِذا لَقِحَت أَرخَت عَقائِصَها

فَمالَ مُنتَثِراً عُرجونُها الرَجِلُ

Pale yellow and red, glowing like embers bright

Until, once fertilized, she loosens her braided tresses,

All night they feed until the honey's might

And her fruit-stalk leans down, scattering its curly locks.

فَبَينَما هِيَ وَالأَرواحُ تَنفَحُها

شَهرَينِ بارِحَةً وَهناً وَتَنتَحِلُ

Permeates each cell and makes the juices right

And while the winds breathe gently upon her,

If only kissing those sweet lips I might!

For two months of hot gusts, she grows frail and thin.

أَرخَت عُقوداً مِنَ الياقوتِ مِدمَجَةً

صُفراً وَحُمراً بِها كَالجَمرِ يَشتَعِلُ

Amid the branches money sways, no fear or plight

She lets down compact necklaces of ruby,

Of wolves for lambs where all is calm and right

Yellow and red, burning within like live embers.

فَلَم تَزَل بِمُدودِ اللَيلِ تُرضِعُهُ

حَتّى تَمَكَّنَ في أَوصالِهِ العَسَلُ

The birds will greet you with their tuneful chorus

She ceases not, through the stretches of the night, to suckle the fruit,

Bulbuls lament, their mates snatched off in sight

Until honey is firmly established within its very joints.

يا طيبَ تِلكَ عَروساً في مَجاسِدِها

لَو كانَ يَصلُحُ مِنها الشَمُّ وَالقُبَلُ

Describe it well, speak true about its essence

Oh, how sweet is such a bride in her saffron-dyed robes,

To lengthen life for one who sings its might

If only embracing and kissing her were permitted!

خِلالَها شَجَرٌ في فَيئِهِ نَقَدٌ

لا يَرهَبُ الذِئبُ فيها الكَبشُ وَالحَمَلُ

Beyond illusions, traces, ruins and the past

Amidst the palms are trees, in whose shade rest flocks of sheep,

My passion and this ode will firmer last

Where neither the ram nor the lamb fears the wolf.

إِن جِئتَ زائِرَها غَنّاكَ طائِرُها

بِرَجعِ أَلحِنَةٍ في صَوتِها هَدَلُ

Why should I praise or blame our human race

If you come as a visitor, its bird will sing to you,

When from each person I can learn and grow

With repeating melodies that carry a gentle cooing in their tone.

مِن بُلبُلٍ غَرِدٍ ناداكَ مِن غُصُنٍ

يَبكي لِبُلبُلَةٍ أَودى بِها خَجَلُ

Long life provides, if judgment I can face

From a warbling nightingale calling out to you from a branch,

And when I'm thirsty or hungry, help will flow

Weeping for a mate who was overcome by shyness.

هَذا فَصِفهُ وَقُل في وَصفِهِ سَدَداً

مُدَّت لِواصِفِهِ في عُمرِهِ الطِوَلُ

This is what you must describe; speak the truth in its description,

And long life shall be extended to the one who portrays it well.

ما بَينَ رَبعٍ وَلا رَسمٍ وَلا طَلَلٍ

أَقوى وَبَيني في حُكمِ الهَوى عَمَلُ

Far removed from the campsite, the trace, and the ruin

That have grown desolate; between me and them, by the decree of passion, is a barrier.

ما لي وَعَوسَجُها بِالقاعِ جانِبُها

أَفعى يُقابِلُها عَن جِحرِهِ وَرَلُ

What business have I with the thorn-bush on the low plain,

Beside which a viper stares down a lizard emerging from its hole?

إِنّي اِمرُؤٌ هِمَّتي وَاللَهُ يكلؤني

أَمرانِ ما فيهِما شُربٌ وَلا أَكلُ

I am a man whose ambition—and may God protect me—

Lies in two matters, wherein neither food nor drink is found:

حُبُّ التَديمِ وَما في الناسِ مِن حُسنٍ

كَفّي إِلَيهِ إِذا راجَعتُهُ خَضِلُ

The love of ancient parchment—and the beauty found in people—

To which my hand, when I return to it, is ever moist with ink.

لا أَمدَحَنَّ وَلا أُخطي خَلائِقَهُ

مَن عِندَهُ لي إِذا ما جِئتُهُ نُزُلُ

I shall not praise—nor overlook the true nature—

Of one who offers me mere hospitality when I come to him.