أَشرِقي كَالفَجرِ غَرّاءَ الجَبين
وَاِترُكي نورَكِ يَهدي العالَمين
Shine like the dawn, fair of brow,
And let your light guide the worlds.
وَاِطلَعي في لَيلِ حُزني كَوكَباً
تَعصِميني مِن ضَلالِ العاشِقين
Rise in my night of sorrow like a star,
Save me from the misguidance of lovers.
وَاِطرَحي في قَفرِ عُمري زَهرَةً
عَلَّها تَنمو وَتَزكو بَعدَ حين
Scatter in the waste of my life a flower—
May it grow and bloom after a time!
وَاِبسُمي تَبسُمَ لَنا بَيضُ المُنى
وَاِضحَكي تَضحَك لَنا غُرُّ السِنين
Smile for us the smile of white wishes,
Laugh for us the laugh of tender years.
ها هُوَ اللَيلُ كَما كانَ بَدا
يَحمِلُ الحُزنَ لِقَلبي وَالحَنين
Bearing sorrow for my heart and yearning.
The temple of sorrows in its shrine
هَيكَلُ الأَحزانِ في مِحرابِهِ
قَرَّبَ العُشّاقَ قُربانَ العُيون
Brought lovers near as an offering of eyes.
Its fragrance, sorrows of dewy flowers,
عُطرُهُ أَحزانُ أَزهارِ الرُبا
وَنَداهُ عَبَراتُ البائِسين
Its call, the sighs of the wretched.
The breeze wandered through its depths—
وَسَرى النَسمُ في أَحشائِهِ
مُهَجٌ ذابَت وَأَرواحٌ فَنَين
Melted passions and spirits that pine.
Everything is laid low by love’s law—
كُلُّ شَيءٍ هانَ في شَرعِ الهَوى
يا مَلاكي وَالهَوى لَيسَ يَهون
My angel, and love cannot be easy.
The night saw only a daughter of passion
لَم يَرَ اللَيلُ سِوى بِنتِ هَوىً
قَرَأَت ما سَتُعاني في الجَبين
Who read what would be written on her brow.
She wore at its beginning the garb of passion,
لَبِسَت في بَدئِهِ ثَوبَ الهَوى
وَبِأُخراهُ ثِيابَ النادِمين
And at its end the clothes of the regretful.
A leader spent the night twisting and turning,
وَعَميدٌ باتَ مَطوِيَ الحَشا
في سُكونِ اللَيلِ مَبحوحَ الأَنين
In the stillness of the night, moaning in anguish.
He rose in the night like a vanishing specter,
قامَ في اللَيلِ كَطَيفٍ غابِرٍ
وَكَأَنَّ اللَيلَ مِحرابُ القُرون
As if the night were the shrine of centuries.
A singer overcome by sorrow
وَمُغَنٍّ غَلَبَ الحُزنُ عَلى
وَتَرِ اللَهوِ لَدَيهِ وَالمَجون
For whom revelry and amusement before him had vanished.
His mind knows not what melody it plays—
لَيسَ يَدري فِكرُهُ ما لَحنُهُ
وَهوَ رَجعُ السِحرِ مِن ماضٍ شَطون
It is the return of dawn from a bygone revelry.
O night, we came to complain—
أَيُّها اللَيلُ أَتَينا نَشتَكي
فَاِستَمَع شَكوى الحَزانى المُتعَبين
So listen to the plaint of the weary sorrowful.
Sorrow has led us astray and sorrow has weakened us,
هَدَّنا الحُزنُ وَأَضنانا الأَسى
وَبَرانا الوَجدُ في دُنيا الشُجون
And passion has tested us in the world of agonies.
We complained to you and came to complain
قَد شَكَوناكَ وَجِئنا نَشتَكي
لَكَ شَيئاً مِن خَيالِ الذاهِلين
To you of something from the imaginings of the heedless.
O night, I recount a love
إِنَّني يا لَيلُ أَحكي غُنوَةً
فَنِيَت فيكَ عَلى مَرِّ السِنين
That faded in you over the course of years,
And turned into a ruin in decay
وَاِستَحالَت في البَلى قُبَّرَةً
تَتَغَنّى في دُجى وادي المَنون
That sings in the gloom of the valley of oblivion.
O night, I recount a bundle
إِنَّني يا لَيلُ أَحكي حُزمَةً
مِن شُعاعٍ في سَماءِ الحالِمين
Of rays in the sky of dreamers
Which tremendous thought folded toward you,
ضَمَّها نَحوَكَ فِكرٌ هائِلٌ
أَزعَجَ الأَربابَ بَينَ الثائِرين
Disturbing the lords among the defiant.
It turned into a boat crossed
وَاِستَحالَت زَورَقاً تَعبُرُهُ
فَزَعاتُ المَوتِ لَيلاً مِن سَنين
By the panics of death by night over years.
This is my song I chanted it
هذِهِ أُغنِيَتي رَتَّلتُها
لَكِ يا دُنيايَ في ديرِ السُكون
For you, O my world, in the monastery of stillness.
Its tune is you, and my sorrow its rhythm,
لَحنُها أَنتِ وَحُزني وَقعُها
وَنَذيرُ المَوتِ بَعضُ السامِعين
And the harbinger of death some of its listeners.
Do not blame that it bears such sorrow—
لا تَلومي ما بِها من حَزَنٍ
إِنَّما الأَحزانُ موسيقى الحَزين
For sorrows are the music of the sorrowful.
The most melodious tunes are those
أَعذَبُ الأَلحانِ لَحنٌ أَفرَغَت
فيهِ أَناتُ الأَسى طَيَّ الحَنين
In which the sighs of agony poured out yearning.
Embrace me in the gloom, draw near,
عانِقيني في الدُجى إِقتَرِبي
إِنَّني أَفزَعُ مِمّا تَفزَعين
For I am terrified by what terrifies you.
Bring your cheek close, press me
قَرِّبي خَدَّكِ ضُمّيني إِلى
صَدرِكِ الحاني اُلثُمي هذا الجَبين
To your loving, warm bosom, and kiss this brow!
We are but riders who lost their way
إِنَّما نَحنُ كَركَبٍ ضَلَّ في
تيهِ صَحراءَ بِقَومٍ تائِهين
In the wasteland, among a people wandering astray.
We forgot all that was ours
قَد نَسينا كُلَّ ما كانَ لَنا
وَتَرَكنا في غَدٍ ما سَيَكون
And left in tomorrow what will be.
