هَذهِ دارُها عَلى الخَلصاءِ

أَضحَكَ المُزنُ رَوضَها بالبُكاءِ

This abode, on the hilltops,

Sorrow has made its garden smile through weeping,

وَكَساها الرَّبيعُ حُلَّةَ نَورٍ

نَسَجَتها أَناملُ الأَنواءِ

And spring has clothed it in a dress of light

Woven by the fingers of the breeze.

فَسَلِ الرَّكبَ أَن يَميلوا إِلَيها

بِصُدورِ الرَّكائِبِ الأَنضاءِ

Ask the caravans to incline toward it

With the graceful camels' through-and-through.

إِنَّها مَنزِلٌ بِهِ التَقَمَ الأَج

رَعُ في مَيعَةِ الشَّبابِ رِدائي

It is an abode where my youth found

Its garment hem in the water of life,

وَكأَنّي أَرى بِأَطلالِهِ وَش

ماً خَفيّاً بِمعصَمَيْ ظَمياءِ

And it seems I see, among its ruins,

A fawn with two braceleted wrists.

أَرِجٌ تُربُهُنَّ مِن فَتَياتٍ

أَلِفَتهُ أَشباهُها مِن ظِباءِ

Gazelles that sand grooms, maidens

That mountain roes love as their kin.

كَبُدورٍ عَلى غُصونٍ ظِماءٍ

في حُقوقٍ تُقِلُّهُنَّ رِواءِ

Like moons upon withering boughs

In hollows that hardly hold them.

إِن تَبَسَّمنَ فالثُّغورُ أَقاحٍ

لُحْنَ غِبَّ الغَمامَةِ الوَطفاءِ

If they smile, the passes smile

With the melody of a dormant cloud.

تَرتَوي حينَ يَنشُرُ الصُّبحُ سِقطَيْ

هِ مَساوِيكُهُنَّ مِن صَهباءِ

They quench their thirst when dawn reveals

Their grazing, white as the arfaj shrub.

وَبِنَجدٍ لِلعَامِريَّةِ دارٌ

بِرُباها مُعَرَّسُ الأَهواءِ

And, prominent through al-‘Amariyya, a house

Adorned as the winds adorn it.

غادَةٌ تَملأُ العيونَ جَمالاً

هيَ دائي مِنهُنَّ وَهْيَ شِفائي

A maiden who fills the eyes with beauty -

She is my malady, she is my remedy.

فَتَملَّيتُهُنَّ في عيشَةٍ خَضْ

راءَ تَندى كَروَضَةٍ غَنّاءِ

I enjoyed them in a verdant life

That rains as a singing garden (rains).

واِرغَوى باطِلي وَعاثَ بياضٌ

مِن قَتيرٍ في لِمَّةٍ سَوداءِ

So my foolishness has had its fling

And left in my temple a swarthy-white lock,

وَظَلامُ الشَّبابِ أَحسَنُ عِندي

مِن مَشيبٍ يُظِلُّني بِضياءِ

And to me the darkness of youth

Is fairer than the shining gray hair.

وَلِذِكرَى ذاكَ الزَّمانِ حَيازِي

مِي تَلَوَّى بِالزَفرَةِ الصُّعْداءِ

As for the memory of that time, my solace

Is a hot sigh on a flaming breath.

كُلَمّا أَوقَدَتْ عَلى القَلبِ ناراً

شَرِقَ الجَفنُ يا أُمُيم بِماءِ

Whenever it kindles a fire in the heart,

My eyelid, O mother of calamities, drips with water.