دَعِ الرَسمَ الَّذي دَثَرا

يُقاسي الريحَ وَالمَطَرا

Leave the attire that defies

Leave behind the ruin that has perished,

The wind and rain

Enduring the winds and the rain,

وَكُن رَجُلاً أَضاعَ العِل

مَ في اللَذّاتِ وَالخَطَرا

And be a man who wastes his knowledge

And be a man who casts knowledge aside

In pleasures and danger

For the pursuit of delights and of risks.

أَلَم تَرَ ما بَنى كِسرى

وَسابورٌ لِمَن غَبَرا

Have you not seen what Kisra built

Have you not seen what Chosroes built,

And Sapur for one who crossed the desert

And Sabur, for the ages to come?

مَنازِهُ بَينَ دَجلَةَ وَال

فُراتِ تَفَيَّأَت شَجَرا

Its dwellings between the Tigris and Euphrates

Pleasure grounds 'twixt the Tigris and the

Were shaded by trees

Euphrates, deep shaded by trees.

بِأَرضٍ باعَدَ الرَحمَ

نُ عَنها الطَلحَ وَالعُشَرا

In a land that kept compassion away

In a land whence the Merciful One

From it, the acacia and the tent

Has banished the thorn and the weed,

وَلَم يَجعَل مَصايِدَها

يَرابيعاً وَلا وَحَرا

He did not make its hunting grounds

And He did not fill its hunting grounds

Squares or pens

With jerboas or lizards of rock,

وَلَكِن حورُ غِزلانٍ

تُراعي بِالمَلا بَقَرا

But they were gazelles with lovely eyes

Nay, but rather with bright-eyed gazelles,

Grazing with the cattle

Grazing in the open with kine.

وَإِن شِئنا حَثَثنا الطَي

رَ مِن حافاتِها زُمَرا

And if we wished we would stir up the birds

And if we desire, we rouse up the birds

In flocks from its outskirts

From its borders in fluttering flocks.

وَإِن قُلنا اِقتُلوا عَنكُم

يُباكِر شَربُها الخَمَرا

And if we said "Kill!" away from you

And if we say, "Let your cares be slain,"

Their drinking of wine hastens

Her drinkers rise early for wine.

أَتاكَ حَليبُ صافِيَةٍ

شَجا قَطَفاً وَمُعتَصَرا

There comes to you the pure milk

There comes to you the milk of a pure vine,

Of she-camels, plucked off and squeezed

Distilled from the pick and the press.

فَذاكَ العَيشُ لا سيداً

بِقَفرَتِها وَلا وَبَرا

That is the life, not an abode

That is true living—not chasing a wolf

With its bleakness or pen

In the wasteland, nor hunting the hare,

بِعازِبِ حَرَّةٍ يُلفى

بِها العُصفورُ مُنجَحِرا

With the tent ropes of a free woman,

On a desolate, black stony tract, where

Where the sparrow twitters

The bird seeks refuge in its hole.

إِذا ما كُنتَ بِالأَشيا

ءِ في الأَعرابِ مُعتَبَرا

So if you consider matters

If you were to judge the state of affairs

Among the nomads

Amongst the Bedouins of the wild,

فَإِنَّكَ أَيَّما رَجُلٍ

وَرَدتَ فَلَم تَجِد صَدَرا

You, whichever man arrives

You would find yourself, whatever the man,

And does not find a bosom

Descending to water, finding none.

وَمِن عَجَبٍ لِعِشقِهِمُ ال

جُفاةَ الجُلفَ وَالصَحَرا

And from wonder at their love

And 'tis strange how they cherish the rude,

Of the rough, coarse desert

The uncouth, and the sands of the waste.

فَقيلَ مِرَقِّشٌ أَودى

وَلَم يَعجَز وَقَد قَدَرا

It was said Murqish perished

They say that Muraqqish has perished,

And he did not fail having determined

Though capable, possessing the power;

وَقَد أَودى اِبنُ عَجلانٍ

وَلَم يَفطَن لَهُ خَبَرا

And the son of 'Ujlan perished

And Ibn 'Ajlan has met his demise,

And was not aware of news

With no news ever known of his fate.

فَحَدَّثَ كاذِباً عَنهُ

وَقالَ بِغَيرِ ما شَعَرا

So a liar related about him

So he spoke of him with a lying tongue,

And said what he did not feel

And uttered what he did not know.

وَلَن كانَ اِبنُ عَجلانٍ

مِنَ البَلوى كَما ذُكِرا

Had the son of 'Ujlan been

And even if truly Ibn 'Ajlan

Of affliction as was said

Suffered trials as the stories recite,

لَكانَ أَذَمَّ عَهداً في ال

هَوى وَأَخَبَّهُ عُذُرا

He would have broken a pact in love

He would still be the basest in keeping

And reproached himself for an excuse

Love's pact, and the falsest in plea.

تَعُدُّ الشَيخَ وَالقَيصو

مَ وَالفُقَهاءَ وَالسُمُرا

You count the old man and judge

She counts up the wormwood and sage,

And jurists and the night conversation as nothing

The fungus and desert-thorn trees,

جَنِيَّ الآسِ وَالنِسري

نِ وَالسوسانِ إِن زَهُرا

The wild ass, the ostrich, and the hyena

As if they were myrtle and briar,

Even if they blossomed

And lilies when bursting in bloom.

وَيُغنيها عَنِ المُرجا

نِ أَن تَتَقَلَّدَ البَعرا

And singing diverts her from missing

She is happy to forego the red coral

That she ties on the camel saddle

To wear a necklace of dung,

وَتَغدو في بَراجِدِها

تَصيدُ الذِئبَ وَالنَمِرا

And sets out in her litter

And she goes out in her rough, woollen garb

Hunting the wolf and tiger

To hunt down the wolf and the leopard.

أَما وَاللَهِ لا أَشَرا

حَلَفتُ بِهِ وَلا بَطَرا

By God I swear neither jesting

Nay, by God, I swear—not in hubris,

Nor raillery

I swear it, and not out of pride:

لَوَ اِنَّ مُرَقِّشاً حَيٌّ

تَعَلَّقَ قَلبُهُ ذَكَرا

If Murqish were living

If the poet Muraqqish were living,

His heart clinging to a memory

His heart would have clung to a male,

كَأَنَّ ثِيابَهُ أَطلَع

نَ مِن أَزرارِهِ قَمَرا

As if his clothes were adorned

As though his fine robes made a moon

With moons on his buttons

Rise forth from the clasp of his coat.

وَمَرَّ يُريدُ ديوانَ ال

خَراجِ مُضَمَّخاً عِطرا

And he passed intending the office

He passed, seeking out the Bureau of

Of taxes smeared with perfume

Taxation, anointed with scent,

بِوَجهٍ سابِرِيٍّ لَو

تَصَوَّبَ مائُهُ قَطَرا

With a Sibari face, if its water flowed

With a face of such delicate texture,

It would drip pearls

Its essence would drip if poured out,

وَقَد خَطَّت حَواضِنُهُ

لَهُ مِن عَنبَرٍ طُرَرا

Whose cheeks traced for him

And the hair of his temples has traced

Fragrances of ambergris

Dark fringes like lines of black amber,

بِعَينٍ خالَطَ التَفتي

رُ في أَجفانِها الحَوَرا

With an eye whose coquetry mixed

With eyes wherein languor is mixed

In its lids, dark-eyed beauties

In the lids, 'midst the white and the black.

يَزيدُكَ وَجهُهُ حُسناً

إِذا ما زِدتَهُ نَظَرا

His face increases your beauty

His face only grows in its beauty,

When you look at it more

The more that you gaze upon it.

لَأَيقَنَ أَنَّ حُبَّ المُر

دِ يُلفى سَهلُهُ وَعَرا

He would be sure that the love of Murray

He'd accept that the love of young men

Embraces its plain and hill

Is a path where the smooth parts are rugged,

وَلا سِيَما وَبَعضُهُمُ

إِذا حَيَّيتَهُ اِنتَهَرا

Especially when some of them

And especially when one of them,

If you greet them become enraged

Rebukes you whenever you greet him.