رشأ كأن بثغره البسام — Aloshari

A fawn, as though within his smiling mouth

Daisy blossoms gleam upon the hills.

He strikes with his languid blade, never returning

Except with the heart of the fierce, mighty lion.

He knows not what redness stains his cheek:

Is it my eyelid's blood, or the blaze of my burning?

And with which limb did he wound my limbs—

With the sword of a glance, or the spear of his stature?

And by what authority was my blood made lawful to him—

By a lawful path, or a forbidden one?

Such is the lovers' custom, widely known to have

Rulings that reverse the usual rulings.

They give thirsty livers its arrows to drink,

And sanction slaying a soul in sacred consecration.

Who will grant me a draught of pure wine from his saliva,

In cups of coquetry, not a cup of wine?

And a night to quench the blaze within my ribs,

With scattered tears, or a chant of ordered verse?

Rise, O sweet-voiced gazelle, and head for Rama;

There lie all my aims and desires.

For I have kissed the mouths of every joy,

And settled in its exalted abode.

And trailed the skirts of happiness, walking proudly,

Upon the earth, exalted in my station.

And I have breathed in, from time and its perfume,

What surpassed the musk of a seal throughout the horizons.

And I saw my eye, after its long sleeplessness,

Find comfort in the fair favors of the days.

This was not from a garden I saw there, nor

From union with a beauty and the embrace of a youth.

Rather, it beheld a most auspicious countenance,

Which dawned upon it from where the gazelles were hidden.

As though it had beheld the majesty of Asif

And his authority in annulling and ratifying;

Or had glimpsed the daring of Antar

On battle's day, in charging and pressing forward;

Or had seen the generosity of Hatim of Tayy

In ages and years long gone;

Or had sighted a cloud pouring abundant rain,

Its rainclouds watering the thirsty, drought-stricken land;

Or beheld a landmark firmly set on a lofty peak,

By which we guide through the darkness of delusions.

I spoke falsely! No, by God, I will not accept that

He inherits eminence from those people.

Rather, he acquired those glories only

From every surging sea and pouring rain—

His lordly, noble forefathers, who are

The essence of eminence and the battalion of Islam.

And they are the very heads of perfection; indeed, they

Are like its eye, placed where those heads belong.

If you knew, O my reproacher, who they are,

You would excuse me and know the truth of my words.

By God, you are not ignorant of their rank;

Rather, you are blind to it, or feigning blindness.

Or their utter visibility gave rise to concealment,

So the eyes of understanding grew dim before it.

They are the house of Haydara and of Ahmad's own flesh,

Exalted above creation in his exalted station.

Thus his perfection, his majesty, and his beauty

Are rain that came to him from the surging, overflowing sea.

He outstripped the noble men before him through his deeds,

And precedence is in deeds, not days.

Enough! The waters of my poetic gift have run dry

Before your exalted praise, and so has all my verse.

You have left me speechless, unable to count each virtue,

So I leapt beyond them with al-Nazzam's leap.

And my ode has come to you, walking in

Its bashfulness, fearing the archer's arrow.

So lend it your ear, and hear the nightingales of its garden,

And raise its pulpits above the peoples.

Grant that it has fallen short; nevertheless,

It has become one of the servants.

And rejoice in lasting happiness and safety,

Joined to happiness and peace,

As long as, at evening, on beauty's horizon there gleams

A fawn, as though his smiling mouth held

Pearls, planted upon gold, resembling

Daisy blossoms gleaming within their calyxes.