هَل الوَجدُ إِلّا أَن تَلوح خِيامُها
فَيَقضي بأهداءِ السَلامِ ذمامُها
Is there any delight but for their tents to appear,
And my camel's reins bid them farewell?
وَقَفتُ بِها أَبكي وَتَرزُمُ ناقَتي
وَتصهل أَفراسي وَيَدعو حِمامُها
I stood weeping while my camel complained,
And my horses neighed, calling the doves.
وَلَو بكتِ الوَرَقُ الحَمائِم شَجوها
بَعَيني مَحا أَطواقهُنَّ انسِجامُها
Had the leaves wept their sorrows,
My eyes would erase their gathered circles.
وَفي كَبدي استغفر اللَهَ غلة
إِلى بَردٍ يَثنى عليه لِثامُها
In my heart I seek God's forgiveness for my sin,
For a coolness whose covering is folded over it,
وَبَردٌ رُضاب سَلسَل غير أَنَّهُ
إِذا شربته النَفس زادَ هِيامُها
A coolness whose drinking makes the soul crave more,
So strange is the sin which, when sated
فَيا عَجَباً مِن غُلَةٍ كُلَّما اِرتَوَت
مِنَ السَلسَبيلِ العذب زادَ اِضطِرامُها
With sweet drink, grows ever more thirsty,
As if after a deep sleep, in its slumber,
كَأَنَّ بُعَيدَ النَومِ في رَشَفاتِها
سُلافٌ رَحيق رقَّ مِنها مُدامُها
A sip of limpid wine which intoxicates it,
And its scent and breath mingle,
وَيَعبق رَيّاها وَأَنفاسها مَعاً
كَنافِحجَةٍ قَد فُضَّ عَنها خِتامُها
Like a sealed bottle freshly opened.
I'll not forget the day when her tears fell
وَلَم أَنسَها يَومَ التَقى درُّ دَمعها
وَدُرُّ الثَنايا فَذُّها وَتؤامُها
And the pearls of her cheeks met as twins.
She smiled, her mouth like a necklace
وَقَد بَسِمت عَن ثَغرِها فَكأَنَّهُ
قَلائِدُ دُرِّ في العَقيقِ اِنتظامُها
Of strung pearls in carnelian perfectly aligned.
And she scattered the pearls of her reproach,
وَقَد نَثَرَت دُرُّ الكَلامِ بَعتبِها
وَلَذَّ بِسَمعي عتبُها وَملامُها
Whose sweet blame was music to my ears.
I knew not which was lovelier,
فَلَم أَدرِ أَي الدُرِّ أَنفَسُ قيمَةً
أَأَدمُعُها أَم ثَغرُها أَم كَلامُها
Her tears, her mouth, or her words?
When she departed, it was as if
وَقَد سَفَرَت عَن وَجهِها فَكأَنَّهُ
تَحسَّرَ عن شَمسِ النَهارِ جَهامُها
The veil of sunlight at noon was lifted.
Wherever her rising shines, its light
وَمِن حَيثُ ما دارَت بِطَلعَتِها تَرى
لإِشراقِها في الحُسنِ نور أَمامها
Foretells the brilliance of her beauty's dawn.
She tossed her staff into meadows as though
فَأَلقَت عَصاها في رياضٍ كَأَنَّها
تَشُقُّ عَن المِسكِ الفَتيق كمامُها
Parting sweet musk's coverlet.
Her laughing face shone like sun on meadows,
وَضاحَكها نور الأَقاحي فَراقَني
تَبسُّمه رَأدَ الضُحى واِبتِسامُها
Its smile radiating the morn's joy and smiles.
I looked - two eyes gazed back; one flowed
نظرت وَلي عَينانِ عَينٌ ترقرقت
فَفاضَت وَأُخرى حار فيها جِمامُها
With tears while in the other burned a coal.
I saw no eye but the sickness of its lids
فَلَم أَرَ عَيناً غير سُقمِ جُفونِها
وَصِحَّة أَجفان الحِسانِ سِقامُها
And the health of the gazelle's eyes was illness.
My friend, does my greeting reach her with the specter,
خَليليَّ هَل يأَتي مَع الطَيفِ نَحوها
سَلامي كَما يأَتي إِليَّ سَلامُها
As hers reaches me each morn?
On a pitch black night she came stealthily,
أَلَمَّت بِنا في لَيلَةٍ مُكفَهَّرَةٍ
فَما سفُرت حَتّى تَجلّى ظَلامُها
Not departing until her darkness lifted.
Weak, in deep gloom - the night was endless,
أَتَت موهناً وَاللَيل أَسوَد فاحِمِ
طَويلٍ حَكاه فَرعُها وَقَوامُها
As she described by her stature and figure.
The specter saw in me a wakeful, modest soul,
فَأَبصر مِنّي الطَيف نَفساً أَبيَّةً
تَيقُّظُها من عِفَّةٍ وَمَنامُها
Rising for virtue's sake though time for rest.
If my luck is the phantom came,
إِذا كانَ حَظّي أَينَ حَلَّ خَيالُها
فَسَيّانَ عِندي نَأيُها وَمُقامُها
Her distance and presence are equal to me.
Of what use is it if home gathers us,
وَهَل نافِعي أَن تَجمع الدارَ بَينَنا
بِكُلِّ مَكانٍ وَهيَ صَعبٌ مَرامُها
When her goal is difficult wherever she turns?
Gentle lady, take pity on a lover's heart
أَسيِّدَتي رِفقاً بِمُهجَة عاشِقٍ
يُعذِّبها بِالبُعدِ مِنكِ غَرامُها
Tormented by your distance and his passion.
Yours is bounty; be generous with your beauty
لَكِ الخَيرُ جودي بِالجَمالِ فَإِنَّهُ
سَحابَة صَيفٍ لا يُرجّى دَوامُها
Which flows like a summer cloud, lasting not.
Beauty is brief - take action before it fades
وَما الحُسنُ إِلّا دَولَة فاِصنَعي بِها
يَداً قَبلَ أَن تَمضي وَيغبر ذامُها
And its features turn to dust.
I see the soul make passion lawful, though it dooms
أَرى النَفسَ تَستَحلي الهَوى وَهوَ حَتفُها
بِعَيشِكِ هَل يَحلو لِنَفسِ حِمامُها
Can the heart of a dove find sweetness in it?
By your life! 'Isa melted my resolve;
وَعيسٍ أَذابَت نِيَّتي جَلَّ نِيُّها
فَرحليَ من بعد السَنامِ سَنامُها
After glory, all is decline.
She races the meadows' poles as though
تَصارع في البَيداء خُوصاً كَأَنَّها
قِسيّ وَلَكِنَّ الرِجال سِهامُها
A bow, though men are its arrows.
If her braids were bound up with her headband,
وَلوَ حُزِمَت من ضُمرها بِحُذامِها
لَجالَت عَلى أَوساطِهِنَّ حُذامُها
They would hang over her waist as a belt.
We came to her, each curve straightened, as though
جَنَبنا إِلَيها كُلَّ عُوَجٍ كَأَنَّما
يُناطُ عَلى أَعلى الرِماحِ لِجامُها
The quivers were attached to the lance points.
As if, in the plain, the poem's bayt calls me,
كَأَنّي في البَيداء بيت قَصيدَةٍ
تُناشِدُني غيطانُها وَأَكامُها
Its rhythms and verses beckon.
Until we reached Hasan's palm, it brought safety
إِلى أَن لثمنا كفَّ حَسّان إِنَّها
أَمانٌ من الفَقرِ المضِرِّ التِثامها
From need's harm and embarrassing poverty.
Then goodness flowed freely from the son of Mufarraj,
فَلَمّا اِستَلَمنا راحَةَ ابنِ مُفرِّجٍ
تدفَّق بِالجودِ الصَريحِ غِمامُها
The King who gives his carpet before its time.
The prostration of kings beneath it, standing over them -
هوَ المَلِكُ يُبلي بُسَطهُ قَبلَ وَقتِها
سُجودُ مُلوكٍ فَوقها وَقيامُها
If you kiss his feet and palm you've gained great fortune.
From afar, if you see him, hope springs;
فَإِن قَبَّلت مِنهُ رِكاباً وَراحَةً
فَقَد فازَ بِالحَظِّ الجَزيل سِهامُها
If not, though absent, it leaps in spirit.
The crowns of kings clash at his door,
إِذا عايَنتَهُ مِن بَعيدٍ تَرَجَّ
فَإِن هيَ لَم تَفعَل تَرَجَّل هامُها
And greetings abound on his day of peace.
A tribe of youths raised him to highest rank,
تَصادم تيجان المُلوك بِبابِهِ
وَيكثر في يَوم السَلام ازدِحامُها
Their dark-skinned boy was a cub among men.
They are lions, yet give towns to those who visit them;
نَمَتهُ إِلى أَعلى المَراتِبِ عُصبَة
يُسَوَّدُ مِن قبل البُلوغِ غُلامُها
While lions hoard their food for themselves.
When his children cry the faces of the exalted smile,
هيَ الأُسدُ إِلّا أَنَّها تبذل القِرى
لِطارِقِها والأُسدُ يَحمى طَعامُها
And the frown of gravity dissolves.
They mix jewels with sublime things for the child,
إِذا ما استَهَلَّ الطِفل منهم تَهلَّلَت
وجوه المَعالي وَاِستَهَلَّ رُكامُها
And he is nurtured on them, his meat and bones.
If after a time they wean their children,
هُمُ يَمزِجون الدَرَّ لِلطِّفلِ بِالعُلى
وَيَنشأ عَلَيها لَحمُها وَعِظامُها
Still, it’s from jewels, not the sublime, they wean.
A whip to the back of the cruel, if the words
وَإِن فَطموا أَطفالهم بعد بُرهةٍ
فَعَن دَرِّها لا عَن عُلاها فِطامُها
Of enemies flow with blood, and words with blood.
Their tresses are their coats of mail, their hearing
جِلادٌ عَلى حر الجِلادِ إِذا اِرتَمَت
كِلامُ الأَعادي بِالدِما وَكِلامُها
The neighing of meadows, and blood their wine.
Death lingers where their swords linger,
غَلائلها أَدراعها وَسَماعُها
صَليلُ المَواضي وَالدِماء مُدامُها
And gifts remain where their tents remain.
Good fortune belongs entirely to those they favor,
تَظَلُّ المَنايا حَيثُ ظَلَّت سُيوفُها
وَتُمسي العَطايا حيثُ أَمسَت خِيامُها
And misfortune to those from whom they take vengeance.
Their greatest fault is frightening
فَما السَعدُ كل السَعيدِ إِلّا عَطاؤُها
وَما النَحسُ كُلُّ النَحسِ إِلّا اِنتِقامُها
The abased guest with their swords.
Indeed, the House of Makkah for glory
وَأَكثر ما فيها مِنَ العَيبِ أَنَّها
تُروِّع بِالضَيفِ المَنيخ سوامُها
Is its corner, and Hasan its standing place.
With the Supporter of God's Faith his triumph grows,
أَلا إِنَّ طَيّاً لِلمَكارِمِ كَعبَةً
وَحسان مِنها رُكنُها وَمُقامُها
As over all kings he rules supreme.
Remote is the reach of his open hand, which gathers
بِناصِر دينِ اللَهِ أُيِّدَ نَصرُها
وَجارٍ عَلى كُلِّ المُلوكِ اِحتِكامُها
Only finest pearls, not rough stones.
If the clouds had the bounty of his right hand,
بَعيدٌ مَداهُ لَيسَ تأَلَفُ كَفَّهُ
مِنَ المكرُماتِ الغُرّ إِلّا حُسامُها
They would shower hopes upon souls.
If the moons had his forehead's light,
وَلَو أَنَّ للأَنواء جود يَمينِهِ
لَجادَت بِآمال النُفوسِ رُهامُها
Theirs would never fade or diminish.
Unconcerned with building, his right palm,
وَلَو أَنَّ لِلأَقمارِ ضوء جَبينِهِ
لما زالَ عَنها نورها وَتَمامُها
If occupied with swords, still rains with bounty.
A soul disposed toward glory,
وَلَيسَ بِمَشغولِ البَنانِ عَن النَدى
إِذا شغلَ الكَفّ اليَمين حُسامُها
And a spirit attuned to the heights.
When war blackens, his sword shines bright,
سَجيَّة نَفسٍ لِلمَكارِمِ جَمعُها
وَشيمَة نَفسٍ لِلمَعالي اِهتمامُها
Or else, from it pours darkness.
With a band like this, necks and pillars
إِذا اِسوَدَّت الحَربُ اِستَضاءَتِ بِسَيفِهِ
كَذَلِكَ أَو يَنجابُ عنه قُتامُها
Of the lofty, their weapons props.
Spear hafts bow before each heart,
لدى فازَةٍ لِلنَّقعِ أَو تاد مِثلها
عِتاقُ المَذاكي وَالرِماح دُعامُها
And the blades lead in prayer.
Their swords roar loud as quarreling foes
تَظلُّ كُعوب الرُمح فيها رَواكِعاً
إِلى كُلِّ قَلبٍ وَالسِنانُ إِمامُها
Though only souls within clash.
In the ribs' end their points judge,
تَضُجُّ القنا فيها ضَجيجاً كَأَنَّها
خُصوم وَلَكِن في النُفوس اِختِصامُها
And through dense bone they pierce.
Some emeralds above jewels as though
تُحكَّم في قُصرى الضُلوعِ قِصارُها
وَيَمرُق في صُمِّ العِظامِ عِظامُها
Sealed rings on the fingers pressed together.
Others, split emeralds, as if
فَمِن زَردٍ فَوقَ العَوالي كَأَنَّها
خَواتِم أَودى في البَنانِ التِحامُها
Chips fly from the fingertips.
When his flags rise against his enemies,
وَمن زَرَدٍ قَد طار أَنصافه كَما
تَطاير عَن أَعلى البنان قُلامُها
It’s no wonder they retreat and flee.
You have bound Qahtan's father to eternal glory,
إِذا طلعت راياته لعداتِهِ
فَلَيسَ عَجيباً فِلُّها واِنهزامُها
A bond that does not fear breaking.
Swords were shrouded but I honed them,
لَقَد علقت قَحطان منك أَبا النَدى
بِعُروَةِ مَجدٍ لا يَخاف اِنفِصامُها
Blows scattered their rust and grime.
If they faced barrenness, you were its spring,
وَكانَت سُيوفاً دُثَّراً فَشحذتُها
فَطيَّر ماضيها الطِلى وَكَهامُها
And if they waged war, you were its sword.
Boasting of your memory was their pride;
فَإِن كابدَت جَدباً فَأَنتَ رَبيعُها
وَإِن باشَرَت حَرباً فَأَنتَ حُسامُها
Your bounty was their honor.
Small are the lands and peoples of the world for you -
بِذِكرِ الَّذي أَوليت كانَ اِفتِخارها
وَفَضل الَّذي أَعطيت كانَ كِرامُها
What more could you want of Syria?
Journey and conquer, for its kings
قَليلٌ لَكَ الأَرضونَ مُلكاً وَأَهلها
عَبيداً فَهل مُستَكثِرٌ لَكَ شامُها
Fall short of you, their complement.
Except that the Emir's traits are jewels,
فَسِر واِفتَحِ الدُنيا فَإِنَّ ملوكها
بِها وَبِهِم نَقصٌ وَأَنتَ تَمامُها
And my praise a threading of them.
My soul has reached you - if it has a share
الا أَن أَوصاف الأَمير جَواهِر
وَإِنَّ مَديحي سلكها وَنِظامُها
In wealth, then this is the year for it.
وَقَد بَلَغت نَفسي إِلَيكَ فَإِن يَكُن
لَها في الغِنى حَظٌّ فَذا العامُ عامُها
