ما لِلّيالي رَمَتني

ما لِلّيالي رَمَتني

بِسَهمِها في القَذالِ

بِسَهمِها في القَذالِ

What ails the nights, that they shot me

Why have the nights struck me

With their arrow in the back of the head?

With their arrows in my chest

صَفَت مَشارِعُ لَهوي

صَفَت مَشارِعُ لَهوي

فَشُبنَها بِالقَذى لي

فَشُبنَها بِالقَذى لي

The watering places of my pleasure grew clear,

My streets of revelry are emptied

Then they fouled them with debris for me.

And their youth is gone from me