لَنا خَمرٌ وَلَيسَ بِخَمرِ نَخلٍ

وَلَكِن مِن نِتاجِ الباسِقاتِ

We have wine, not from date palms

We possess a vintage, though not of common palms,

But from lofty date trees

But born of the soaring, lofty trees.

كَرائِمُ في السَماءِ زَهَينَ طولاً

فَفاتَ ثِمارُها أَيدي الجُناةِ

Noble ones in the sky, tall of stature

Noble daughters of the sky, proud in their height,

Their fruits evaded the hands of harvesters

Whose fruits escape the grasp of plucking hands.

قَلائِصُ في الرُؤوسِ لَها ضُروعٌ

تَدِرُّ عَلى أَكُفِّ الحالِباتِ

Young females with udders in their necks

Like young camels they stand, bearing udders in their crowns

That drip into the palms of milkmaids

That flow abundantly into the milking hands.

صَحائِحُ لا تُعَدُّ وَلا نَراها

عِجافاً في السِنينَ المالِحاتِ

Fecund ones, beyond count, unseen

Robust and sound, beyond all counting,

Barren in the salty years

Never seen emaciated, even in years of drought.

مَسارِحُها المَدارُ فَبَطنُ جَوخى

إِلى شَطِّ الأُبُلَّةِ فَالفُراتِ

Their pastures are the orbit, the belly of Gemini

Their pastures lie in Al-Madar and the vale of Jawkha,

To the bank of Andromeda then the Euphrates

Stretching to Al-Ubullah's banks and the Euphrates stream.

تُراثاً عَن أَوائِلِ أَوَّلينا

بَني الأَحرارِ أَهلِ المَكرُماتِ

An inheritance from the ancients of our ancestors

A heritage handed down from our earliest forebears,

The free people, the generous folk

The sons of the free, the lords of noble deeds.

تَذُبُّ بِها يَدُ المَعروفِ عَنّا

وَتَصبِرُ لِلحُقوقِ اللازِماتِ

With it we satisfy the hand of favor from us

Through them, the hand of kindness wards off want,

And have patience for necessary rights

And sustains the burden of all bounden duties.

فَحينَ بَدا لَكَ السَرَطانُ يَتلو

كَواكِبَ كَالنِعاجِ الراتِعاتِ

So when cancer appeared to you reciting

So when the sign of Cancer rises to your view,

Like sheep stars in single file

Trailing stars that resemble grazing ewes,

بَدا بَينَ الذَوائِبِ في ذُراها

نَباتٌ كَالأَكُفِّ الطالِعاتِ

There emerged amidst the locks in their arms

There appears amidst the fronds upon their summits

Growth like rising palms

A growth reaching out like rising hands.

فَشُقَّقَتِ الأَكُفُّ فَخِلتُ فيها

لَآلِئَ في السُلوكِ مُنَظَّماتِ

Then the palms split and in them

And when these hands split open, you would fancy

I found pearls, well-arranged

Pearls arranged in order upon a string.

وَما زالَ الزَمانُ بِحافَتَيها

وَتَقليبُ الرِياحِ اللاقِحاتِ

And time still flows in their valleys

Then time passes over their borders,

With the pollinating winds blowing

With the shifting of the fertilizing winds,

فَعادَ زُمُرُّداً وَاِخضَرَّ حَتّى

تَخالُ بِهِ الكِباشَ الناطِحاتِ

The emerald returned green until

Turning them to emerald, green and lush,

It made the butting rams believe it

Until they resemble the heads of butting rams.

فَلَمّا لاحَ لِلساري سَهيلٌ

قُبَيلَ الصُبحِ مِن وَقتِ الغَداةِ

So when Sirius rose for the Crab

And when the Star of Canopus gleamed to the night-traveler,

At dawn from the time of early morning

Just before the break of dawn and morning light,

بَدا الياقوتُ وَاِنتَسَبَت إِلَيهِ

بِحُمرٍ أَو بِصُفرٍ فاقِعاتِ

The ruby appeared and owed allegiance

The rubies emerged, claiming kinship with the gems,

To it in deep red or yellow

In deep crimson hues or brilliant yellow bright.

فَلَمّا عادَ آشِرُها خَبيصاً

بَعَثتُ جُناتِها بِمُعَقَّفاتِ

So when the misfortune of their mother returned malignant

And when their crispness turned to sweet confection,

I sent their gardens pollinators

I dispatched the harvesters with hooked blades.

فَضُمِّنَ صَفوُ ما يَجنونَ مِنها

خَوابِيَ كَالرِجالِ مُقَيَّراتِ

And the choicest of what they harvest from it

And the pure essence of their harvest was secured

Was stored in jars like honored men

In pitched jars that stand like tar-coated men.

وَقُلتُ اِستَعجِلوا فَاِستَعجَلوها

بِضَربٍ بِالسِياطِ مُحَدرَجاتِ

And I said hurry, so they hurried it

I cried, 'Make haste!' and so they hastened the work,

With lashes, hastening

Striking the mix with rounded, whipping rods.

ذَوائِبُ أُمُّها جُعِلَت سِياطاً

تَحُثُّ فَما تَناهى ضارِباتِ

The locks of their mother became whips

From the very fronds of its mother, whips were fashioned

That drive without tiring of striking

To urge the brew, striking without pause,

فَوَلَّدَتِ السِياطُ لَها هَديراً

كَتَرجيعِ الفُحولِ الهائِجاتِ

So the lashes birthed for them a roar

Until the whipping birthed a rumbling sound,

Like the snorting of frenzied stallions

Like the bellowing of stallions in their rage.

فَلَمّا قيلَ قَد بَلَغَت وَلَمّا

وَتوشِكُ أَن تُقَرُّ وَأَن تُواني

So when it was said she has ripened and when

And when they said, 'It is mature,' and the time was ripe,

She was about to settle and weaken

And the ferment was ready to settle and to rest,

نَسَجتُ لَها عَمائِمَ مِن تُرابٍ

وَماءٍ مُحكَماتٍ موثَقاتِ

I wove for her turbans of clay

I wove for the jars tight turbans made of clay

And firm, tightly-bound waters

Mixed with water, sealed and firmly bound.

سَتَرتُ الجَوَّ خَوفاً مِن أَذاهُ

فَباتَت مِن أَذاهُ آمِناتِ

I veiled the air fearing its harm

I shut out the air for fear of its harm,

So she spent the night safe from its harm

So the wine remained secure from any blight.

فَلَمّا قيلَ قَد بَلَغَت كَشَفنا ال

عَمائِمَ عَن وُجوهٍ مُشرِقاتِ

So when it was said she has ripened we unveiled

And when told, 'It has aged,' we stripped away

Faces shining like the bright sun

The clay turbans to reveal radiant faces.

حَساها كُلُّ أَروَعَ شَيظَمِيٍّ

كَريمِ الجَدِّ مَحمودٍ مُؤاتِ

All deemed her more beautiful than any Shimaysi

Sipped by every noble and towering soul,

Noble, praised, generous

Of high lineage, praised and obliging.

تَحِيَّةَ بَينَهُم تَفديكَ روحي

وَآخِرُ قَولِهِم أَفديكَ هاتِ

A greeting between them redeems your soul

Their greeting is, 'May my soul be your ransom!'

And their final word is "I sacrifice you, bring it!"

And their parting words, 'I ransom you—pour more!'