باتَ المُعَنّى وَالدُجى يَبتَلي
وَالبَرحُ لا وانٍ وَما مُنجَلي
The tormented lover spends the night while darkness puts him to the test,
and anguish neither slackens nor clears away.
وَالشُهبُ في كُلِّ سَبيلٍ لَهُ
بِمَوقِفِ اللُوّامِ وَالعُذَّلِ
The bright stars, on every path he takes,
assume the stance of censors and reproachers.
إِذا رَعاها ساهِياً ساهِراً
رَعَينَهُ بِالحَدَقِ الغُفَّلِ
Whenever he gazes at them, distracted and wakeful,
they watch him with unblinking eyes.
يا لَيلُ قَد جُرتَ وَلَم تَعدِلِ
ما أَنتَ يا أَسوَدُ إِلّا خَلي
O night, you have been unjust and have not dealt fairly.
What are you, O black one, but carefree?
تَاللَهِ لَو حُكِّمَت في الصُبحِ أَن
تَفعَلَ أَحجَمتَ فَلَم تَفعَلِ
By God, had you been given power over dawn to act,
you would have shrunk back and never acted.
أَو شِمتَ سَيفاً في جُيوشِ الضُحى
ما كُنتَ لِلأَعداءِ ما أَنتَ لي
Or had you drawn a sword against the hosts of morning,
you would not be to your enemies what you are to me.
أَبيتُ أُسقى وَيُديرُ الجَوى
وَالكَأسُ لا تَفنى وَلا تَمتَلي
I spend the night being plied with drink, while heartache passes it round;
the cup neither runs dry nor ever fills.
الخَدُّ مِن دَمعي وَمِن فَيضِهِ
يَشرَبُ مِن عَينٍ وَمِن جَدوَلِ
My cheek, from my tears and from their flood,
drinks from my eye and from my streaming rivulet.
وَالشَوقُ نارٌ في رَمادِ الأَسى
وَالفِكرُ يُذكي وَالحَشا يَصطَلي
Longing is a fire amid the ashes of sorrow;
thought fans it, and my innermost heart is seared.
وَالقَلبُ قَوّامٌ عَلى أَضلُعي
كَأَنَّهُ الناقوسُ في الهَيكَلِ
My heart pounds ceaselessly against my ribs,
as though it were the bell within a church.
Sol 5.6