ما لِلكَبيرِ في الغَواني مِن أَرَب
ماتَ الهوى فَلا جَوىً وَلا طَرَب
What joy does old age have in sighs and sorrows?
Love is dead, there is no intimacy or confusion.
يا رَبَّةَ الخِدرِ قَري راضيَةً
فَإِن أَبَيتِ فَاِتلَفي مِنَ الغَضَب
O beauty with languid eyes, be content and gentle,
If you refuse then destroy me in anger!
هَيهاتِ لا آسى عَلى فَقدِ الصِبا
وَلا يُرى دَمعي لِشَوقٍ يَنسَكِبُ
Alas! I have no regrets for the loss of youth,
Nor do tears of yearning flow from me.
كانَ الهوى خِدني فَقَد وَدَّعتُهُ
وَقَلَّما يَعودُ شَيءٌ قَد ذَهَب
Love once seduced me, now I have bid it farewell,
Rarely does something that's gone return.
وَرُبَّ يَومٍ قَصَّرَتهُ خَلوَتي
بِفاتِرِ الطَرفِ خَلوبٍ مُختَلَب
Many are the days my seclusion shortened,
With a languid, sidelong glance from sleepy, made up eyes.
يَسلُبُني عَقلي بِحُسنِ وَجهِهِ
وَهوَ منَ الإِعجابِ بي كَالمُستَلَب
My mind robbed by the beauty of his face,
While he regards me with wonder like one bewitched.
كَأَنَّما هاروتُ في أَجفانِّهِ
يُنصِفُ إِن شاءَ وَإِن شاءَ غَصَب
As if Harut's eyes judge, to favor or wrong as he pleases,
Fluttering, quivering in their sockets,
مُهَفهَفٌ يَرتَجُّ في أَقطارِهِ
كَمازَفَت ريحٌ بِآجامِ قَصَب
Like the breeze that sways the stalks of cane.
I know not if his glance or wine called daughter of the vine intoxicated me,
لَم أَدرِ ما أَسكَرَني أَطَرفُهُ
أَم الَّتي يَدعونَها بِنتُ العِنَب
As if his face were pearl water and his body finer than liquid gold.
You'd think it a ruby in its cup,
كَأَنَّما الدُرَّةُ ماءُ وَجهِهِ
وَجِسمُهُ أَحسَنُ مِن ماءِ الذَهَب
Or an ember set aflame with purpose and thus kindled.
This one's that, and Fate is the key to bounty,
تَحسِبُها في كَأسِها ياقوتَةً
أَو قَبَساً أُلهِبَ عَمداً فَاِلتَهَب
Flower of life, spring of manners.
He is pleased and generously casts favors,
هَذا لِذا وَالفَتحُ مِفتاحُ النَدى
وَزَهرَةُ الدُنيا وَيَنبوعُ الأَدَب
Death is angered when Fate is ireful.
Consider his traces with bounty,
يَرضى فَيَرمي بِاللُهى سَماحَةً
وَيَغضَبُ المَوتُ إِذا الفَتحُ غَضِب
Like traces of rain upon grass.
If Glory were told, attach thyself to a man,
أُنظُر إِلى آثارِهِ عِندَ اللُهى
تَنظُر إِلى آثارِ غَيثٍ في عُشُب
None would it seek but him as its origin.
A lion, gallant, generous, glorious,
لَو قيلَ لِلمَجدِ اِنتَسِب إِلى اِمرِئٍ
لَم تُلفِهِ إِلّا إِلَيهِ يَنتَسِب
Wealth suffices him, to grant and gift.
Good fortune to one loyal to Abu Muhammad,
لَيثٌ وَغَيزٌ وَجَوادٌ ماجِدٌ
كَفّاهُ بِالأَموالِ تَحبو وَتَهَب
And say to one hostile, prepare for perdition.
His obedience is duty, if you disobey him,
طوبى لِمَن والى أَبو مُحَمَّدٍ
وَقُل لِمَن عادى تأَهَّب لِلعَطَب
You'll be firewood for Hell in your disobedience.
O you who praise Fate and hope in it,
طاعاتُهُ فَرضٌ فَإِن عَصَيتَهُ
كُنتَ بِعِصيانِكَ لِلنارِ حَطَب
You are no man who failed or speaker who lied.
When Fate clothes me in robes of wealth,
يا مادِحَ الفَتحِ وَيا آمِلَهُ
لَستَ اِمرَأً خابَ وَلا مُثنٍ كَذَب
My raiment of it is choice poetry.
Poems that delight those to whom they are gifted,
إِذا كَساني الفَتحُ أَثوابَ الغِنى
فَكُسوَتي إياهُ مَدحٌ مُنتَخَب
And the soul's pleasure in refined living.
I never borrowed their adornments, nor
قَصائِدٌ يَطرَبُ مَن تُهدى لَهُ
وَلَذَّةُ النَفسِ مِنَ العَيشِ الطَرَب
Did I pretend in reciting them in books.
They came like pearls in necklaces of gold,
لَم أَستَعِر حِليَتَها يَوماً وَلا
أَغَرتُ حينَ قُلتُها عَلى الكُتُب
On the neck of a beauty, or like rods of gold.
Sorcery, permitted, I did not string its beads
جاءَت كَدُرٍّ في سِماطِ لُؤلُؤٍ
في جيدِ خَودٍ أَو كَعِقيانِ الذَهَب
Save to raise my station above the ranks.
How could one hopeful of you not hope for wealth,
سِحرٌ حَلالٌ لَم أُؤَلِّف عِقدَهُ
إِلّا لِتَعلو رُتبَتي عَلى الرُتَب
When you are the pinnacle of glory while people are the tail?
وَكَيفَ لا يَأمُلُ راجيكَ الغِنى
وَأَنتَ رَأسُ المَجدِ وَالناسُ ذَنَب
