تَفتيرُ عَينَيكَ دَليلٌ عَلى
أَنَّكَ تَشكو سَهَرَ البارِحَه
The fluttering of your eyes reveals
The languid drooping of your eyes reveals the sign / That you complain of sleeplessness from yesternight.
That you complain of staying up last night
You wear a face of misery and blight / Born of a night you passed in pure delight.
عَلَيكَ وَجهٌ سَيِّئٌ حالُهُ
مِن لَيلَةٍ بِتَّ بِها صالِحَه
You look terrible, your state
The scent of wine and its pleasures betray, / For the aroma of the vine never hides away.
From a night spent upright
And a maiden with Harut’s magic in her glance, / While the sun inclines to join her in the dance.
رائِحَةُ الخَمرِ وَلَذّاتُها
وَالخَمرُ لا تَخفى لَها رائِحَه
The smell of wine and its pleasures
She strikes the oud with fingertips of art, / Striking a melody that sparks fire in my heart.
Wine whose scent cannot be hidden
وَغادَةٍ هاروتُ في طَرفِها
وَالشَمسُ في قَرقَرِها جانِحَه
And a maiden whose eyes are intoxicated
As the sun rises unsteadily
تَستَقدِحُ العودَ بِأَطرافِها
وَنَغمَةٌ في كَبِدي قادِحَه
She strikes the lute with her fingertips
A melody ignites my heart
