اِربَع عَلى الطَلَلِ الَّذي اِنتَسَفَت

مِنهُ المَعالِمُ أَنجُمَ النَحسِ

Four upon the ruins which lost

Halt by the ruins which have been scoured away,

Their landmarks, stars of ill fate,

Their landmarks erased by the stars of ill-omen;

وَاِستَوطَنَتهُ العُفرُ قاطِنَةً

وَلَقَد يَكونُ مَرابِعَ الإِنسِ

And which solitude inhabits

The dust-colored gazelles have settled there, dwelling

As the dwelling place of mankind.

Where once stood the spring quarters of men.

لَعِبَت بِهِ ريحٌ يَمانِيَةٌ

وَحَواصِبٌ تَرَكَتهُ كَالطَرسِ

A southern wind played with it

A wind from the south has played upon the site,

And rains left it like a coat of mail.

And gravel-storms have left it like a smoothed scroll.

فَلَئِن عَفا وَعَفَت مَعالِمُهُ

فَلَقَد خَضَعتُ وَكُنتُ ذا نَفسِ

So if its features are effaced

So if it has faded, and its traces are gone,

I am submissive, though I had spirit.

Then I too have been humbled, though I once possessed a proud soul.

وَحَلَلتُ عَقدَ هَوايَ مُقتَصِراً

لِصَبوحِ موفِيَةٍ عَلى الشَمسِ

I have loosed the knot of my passion

I have untied the knot of my old passion, contenting myself

Keeping faith with a morn of parting at sunrise,

With a morning draught of wine that towers over the sun;

صَفراءَ سِلكُ جُمانِ لُؤلُؤُها

أَلِفاتُ كاتِبِ سَيِّدِ الفُرسِ

Yellow the necklace of pearls

Golden, its bubbles rising like strings of pearls,

Writings of the lord of steeds.

Straight as the Alifs drawn by the scribe of the Persian King.

تَرمي الحَبابَ بِمِثلِهِ صُعُداً

دَقَّت مَسالِكُها عَنِ النَحسِ

It casts its gleam like it

It casts up bubbles, one following another,

Its tracks avoiding ill fate.

Their paths too subtle for misfortune to strike.

وَكَأَنَّما هِيَ حينَ تُبرِزُها

لِلشارِبينَ عُصارَةُ الوَرسِ

As though when it shows them

And it seems, when it is revealed

To the drinkers, juice of sweet flag.

To the drinkers, to be the very essence of saffron.

وَإِذا تُرامُ تَفوتُ لامِسَها

مِثلَ الهَباءِ يَفوتُ بِاللَمسِ

And when it is tossed, its toucher

If one seeks to grasp it, it eludes the hand,

Misses it, like vapor with touch.

Just as fine dust escapes the touch.

وَمُوَحَّدٍ في الحُسنِ جَلَّلَهُ

بِرِدائِهِ ذو الطولِ وَالقُدسِ

Matchless in beauty, his cloak

And a youth unique in beauty, whom the Possessor

Enwrapped him, of great length and sanctity.

Of Bounty and Holiness has robed in His mantle;

إِن شِئتَ قُلتَ خَريدَةٌ جُلِيَت

لِلشَربِ يَومَ صَبيحَةِ العُرسِ

If you wish, say a goblet polished

If you wished, you could say: 'A maiden unveiled

For drinking on the morn of wedding.

For the revelers on the morning of a wedding feast.'

وَأُعيذُهُ مِن أَن يَكونَ لَهُ

ما تَحتَ مِئزَرِها مِنَ الرَجسِ

I guard it from being

Yet I seek God's refuge for him from possessing

Under its waist-wrapper, unclean.

That impurity which lies beneath her waist-wrapper.

غَنّى عَلى طَرَبٍ يُرَجِّعُهُ

لِيَحُثَّ كَأسَ مُعاوِدِ الحَبسِ

He sang to a music returning him

He sang with emotion, trilling his voice,

To stir the cup of the oft imprisoned.

To urge on the cup of one returning to confinement:

يا خَيرَ مَن وَخَدَت بِأَرحُلِهِ

نُجبُ الرِكابِ بِمَهمَهٍ حَلسِ

O best of those whose mount’s litters

'O best of those to whose saddles have trotted

Bore the elite with humming talk.

Noble camels through a desolate waste.'

فَثَنى عَلَيهِ لَواحِظاً نَطَقَت

مِنهُ بِمِثلِ نَواطِقِ المَسِّ

So it spoke of him, observing,

Then he bent toward him with glances that spoke,

With the voice of an elegant, pure one.

Speaking as clearly as the touch of madness.

وَثَنى يُغَنِّنا مُعارِضَهُ

لِمَنِ الدِيارُ بِجانِبَي لَجسِ

And he sang, challenging its echoes

And he turned to sing for us, answering the song:

For one whose abode is by Lejas.

'To whom belong the dwellings by the slopes of Lajs?'

فَلَوَ اِنَّ قَسّاً كانَ حاضِرَهُ

لَصَبَت إِلَيهِ عِبادَةُ القَسِّ

Had there been a priest present

And had Qass the Priest been there to witness him,

The worship of priests would have poured to him.

Even the worship of the priest would have turned to yearn for him.