يا حَبَّذا مَجلِسٌ قَد كانَ يَجمَعُنا

بِطيزَناباذَ في بُستانِ عَمّارِ

Oh, how joyous was that gathering which once united us

How delightful was the gathering that once united us, at Tizanabad in the garden of 'Ammar,

At Tīz Nabādh in the gardens of Imāra

And delightful is the mother of 'Ammar, and the sight of her—a vintner herself, who became mother to a vintner.

وَحَبَّذا أُمُّ عَمّارٍ وَرُؤيَتُها

خَمّارَةٌ أَصبَحَت أُمّاً لِخَمّارِ

And joyous was mother of Imāra and seeing her

She serves us a wine already seized by the vicissitudes of time, enduring age after age;

A tavern keeper who became a mother to tavern keepers

It moaned for a time just as a sick man moans without cure, until the Creator, the Maker, preserved it.

تَعُلُّنا بِمُدامٍ قَد تَناوَلَها

رَيبُ الزَمانِ وَعَصرٌ بَعدَ إِعصارِ

She would serve us drinks that were soaked

The long epochs ceased not to diminish it, until but a tenth of it remained hidden in its fierce vessel.

By the passing of time and an era after era

It was as if it had drunk drafts of its own self, intensifying its color within the pitch-lined jar.

أَنَّت زَماناً كَما أَنَّ المَريضُ وَما

تُشفى فَدافَعَ عَنها الخالِقُ الباري

For some time, like a sick man not healed

She never stepped a single span from her boudoir toward anyone, yet remained ever amidst gardens and rivers.

So the Creator defended her in His fairness

فَلَم تَزَل حِقَبُ الأَيّامِ تُنقِصُها

حَتّى اِختَبا عُشرُها في دَنِّها الضاري

Thus the epochs of days kept diminishing her

Until her best tenth eroded in her flowing demise

كَأَنَّما شَرِبَت مِن نَفسِها جُرَعاً

فَاِزدادَ مِن لَونِها في باطِنِ القارِ

As if she drank from her own self a draught

And her innermost grew darker in complexion

لَم تَخطُ مِن خِدرِها شِبراً إِلى أَحَدٍ

وَلَم تَزَل بَينَ جَنّاتٍ وَأَنهارِ

She never took a single step towards anyone

Yet remained amidst gardens and rivers