أَلا مَن لِصَبٍّ عازِبِ النَومِ ساهِدِ
وَمَن لِمُحِبٍّ مُثبَتٍ لِلعَوائِدِ
Alas for him sleepless all night long, love-stricken,
And for a lover true, bound fast to the trysting place;
وَقالوا بِهِ داءٌ أَصابَ فُؤادَهُ
مِنَ الجِنِّ أَو سِحرٌ بِأَيدي المَوارِدِ
They said of him: “A sickness seized his heart
Of Jinn or magic from spell-casting hands.”
وَما ذاكَ إِلّا حُبُّ خَودٍ تَعَرَّضَت
لِتَقتُلَني بِالمَنظَرِ المُتَباعِدِ
It is not so, but only love of a cheek that chanced,
In passing, to slay me with a furtive glance
فَأَدرَكَ مَجلودي جَوى الحُبِّ كاعِبٌ
كَشَمسِ الضُحى في الفائِقاتِ الخَرائِدِ
My fantasy enraptured by love’s agony,
Like the dawning sun in high clouds blazing red.
كَأَنَّ العَذارى حينَ قَوَّمنَ حَولَها
قَلائِدَ بدلهُنَّ أُمَّ القَلائِدِ
’Twas as if the beauties thronging round had cast
Their necklaces about her neck, the queen of all;
فَسارَقتُ أَصحابي المُكِبّينَ نَظرَةً
إِلى غادَةٍ لَم تَستَتِر بِالوَلائِدِ
I stole from my friends a glance at an unveiled maid
Who hid behind no veiling scarves her charms.
غَداةَ مَشَت فيهِنَّ رودٌ لِجارَةٍ
يَميلُ بِها غُصنُ الهَوى المُتَزائِدِ
One dawn, as they paced in the midst, a sprig of sweet basil
Wavered towards them where love’s bough extravagant grows.
مَشَت قابَ قَوسٍ دونَها ثُمَّ أُلقِيَت
إِلى الأَرضِ مِن جَهدِ الخُطى كَالمُعانِدِ
They walked a bowshot’s length and suddenly there was cast
Prone on the earth one whom all strength had left.
فَوَطَّأنَ مَمشاها بِما لَو كَسَبنَهُ
كَفاهُنَّ مِن زَبنِ الخَروجِ الحَواشِدِ
Their gait weighed down by something that, had it been gained,
Would suffice them against the vigilant spies of dawn.
وَخِفنَ الضِحى مِن نَومِهِنَّ عَلى الضُحى
فَأَقبَلنَ إِقبالَ الغُصونِ المَوائِدِ
And when morning was relieved by morning from sleep,
They swayed towards it like branches full of fruit weigh down.
يُفَدّينَها طَوراً وَطَوراً يَلُمنَها
عَواكِفَ حَتّى جاوَزَت غَيرَ باعِدِ
Now hiding her from view, and now companioning her,
Till they had passed beyond my sight, nor far nor near,
فَلَمّا اِشتَكَت حَرَّ السَمومِ وَأَهلَها
قَريبٌ وَمَلَّت مَشيَها في المَجاسِدِ
When she complained of heat and dust while relatives and friends
Drew near, and she was wearied of roaming through the pastures,
ضَرَبنَ عَلَيها السِترَ ثُمَّ سَتَرنَها
بِأَخضَرَ مِن خَزٍّ عَتيقِ العَضائِدِ
They cast a cloak about her and then concealed her with
A tent of fresh-hued brocade with many ties and bands,
مِنَ الشَمسِ وَالرائينَ وَالريحِ وَالسَفا
كَما سُتِرَ الضَوءُ الَّذي في المَساجِدِ
To hide her from sun, spy, wind, and envious eye,
As lamps in mosques are hidden behind coloured glass.
مَخافَةَ أَن تُعدى بِشَيءٍ يُريبُها
فُطَيمَةُ أَو تَغتالُها عَينُ حاسِدِ
Fearing for her some blemish or evil eye of hater—
An impious Fatimah or a watchful partisan.
أَفاطِمُ إِنَّ النَفسَ تُخفي مِنَ الهَوى
جَليلاً وَتُبدي مِثلَهُ في المَشاهِدِ
O Fatimah, the soul does hide what it would keep
From love and show the like of it in open sight!
وَلا صاحِبٌ أَشكو إِلَيهِ فَأَشتَفي
إِذا ما شَكا رَأسي مَكانَ الوَسائِد
Nor have I any friend in whom to confide—
Head suffering more than any couch with pillows piled—
سِوى راقِدٍ لَم يَدرِ ما بي وَلَو دَرى
لَهانَ عَلَيهِ مَشهَدي وَمَراقِدي
Save one supine who never knew what ailed me though
My wretched plight and sleeplessness were plain to see.
أَعَيَّرتِ نَفساً لَم تَمُت بِبَقائِها
وَما ذَنبُ مَعدودٍ لَهُ المَوتُ وارِدِ
My soul, you blame what owes you no fidelity.
What fault in one fated ere death would claim
كَفى مِنكِ أَنّي في الجَميعِ إِذا بَدوا
أَظَلُّ كَملُقى رَأسُهُ غَيرِ جاهِدِ
For me from those who gather when day breaks
To be like one asleep, his head upon no pillow laid,
مُكِبّاً بِعَينَيَّ الأَماني مِنكُمو
أَمانِيُّ لا تُجدي كَأَحلامِ راقِدِ
My eyes filled only with vain dreams of you,
Vain as any sleeper’s that the day will dissipate.
وَإِنّي أُقاسي مِن جِهادِكِ خالِياً
عَياءً فَأَنّى لي بِأَجرِ المُجاهِدِ
Yet I alone endure apart from you the rigours of battl
So what reward falls to him who has no battlefield?
كَأَنّي بِوِسواسِ الهَوى مِن حَديثِكُم
أَخو جِنَّةٍ في المُقفَلاتِ الحَدائِدِ
The anguish is enough for the lover of her
Whose promises of meeting are the mirage void.
فَأَنتِ الهَوى شَطَّت بِكِ الدارُ أَو دَنَت
وَإِن رَغِمَت مِنهُ أُنوفُ الحَواسِدِ
The pointing of some people whose loose sleeves
Were better knotted tight increased my suffering.
فَكوني كَما كُنّا لَكُم نَقضِ حاجَةً
وَلا تَسمَعي قَولَ العَدُوِّ المُكايِدِ
To whom does he make this plain? Who else feels passion
But the slanderer rebuking me and foes forbidding my desire?
لَقَد زادَني وَجداً بِكُم وَصَبابَةً
إِشارَةُ أَقوامٍ أَكُفَّ السَواعِدِ
And for the noble youth isn’t it enough to bear
The grief for her he loves whose pledge is ever false?
إِلى مَن صَبا هَذا وَمَن يَصبُ يَتَّهِم
مَقالَةَ أَدناهُ وَنَهيَ الأَباعِدِ
She complained of the length of my estrangement though
In her heart she knew my ardour hers alone,
وَحَسبُ الفَتى مِمَّن يُكابِدُ هَمَّهُ
إِذا كانَ مَن يَهوى كَذوبَ المَواعِدِ
Yet fear makes me avoid all eyes and keep guard
Against both neighbour and guarded parent;
تَشَكّى الَّذي في نَفسِها مِن مَوَدَّتي
وَقَد زَعَمَت أَنّي بِها غَيرُ واجِدِ
One eve, as I drew near, she moaned sadly for my long absence
And was not moved within as I was, her sister, mother, all!
وَلَكِنَّني أَخشى عُيوناً وَأَتَّقي
بَواسِطَ مِن جارٍ غَيورٍ وَوالِدِ
I swear had they assessed the flame which filled my heart
They would have known I surpassed th’ impassioned zealot;
شَكَت طولَ هِجراني عَشِيَّةَ زُرتُها
وَما وَجَدَت وَجدي بِها أُمُّ واحِدِ
I held back from all but her when others sought me
And my supplications bowed only at her door;
وَأُقسِمُ لَو قيسَ الَّذي بي مِنَ الهَوى
لَقَد عَرَفَت فَضلاً لِحَرّانَ جاهِدِ
Hearing at my side some ode of love declaimed
I quivered while around her neither parent shook.
مَنَعتُ قِيادي غَيرَها حينَ رامَني
وَذَلَّت بِما تَهوى إِلَيها مَقاوِدي
Echoes from my words of love for her would pass
Through me, like spells pronounced again and yet again;
إِذا أُنشِدَت بِالشِعرِ عِندي قَصيدَةٌ
طَرِبتُ وَلَم تَطرِب لَها أُمُّ خالِدِ
As if my soul, alert against me, laid cunning siege
And then relinquished me to wake the dawn once more,
يُخامِرُني مِمّا أَقولُ بِحُبِّها
جَوىً مِثلُ سِحرِ البابِليِّ المُعاوِدِ
So composing poetry my rapture became
An amulet about my neck preserving from all harm,
كَأَنّي أَكيدُ النَفسَ مِنّي بِكَيدِها
فَتُغفي وَأُحيِي لَيلَتي جَدَّ ساهِدِ
As when one uncovers in great haste an asp
While round him throng the troops of enemies and lions:
فَإِنّي وَتَحبيري القَوافِيَ أَصبَحَت
عَلَيَّ رُقىً مَعقودَةً في القَصائِدِ
Thus was I because of this one or that before her,
And after them death’s breathing growing loud and near:
كَمُستَحرِشٍ مِن عَقرَبٍ دَبَّبَت لَهُ
جُيوشُ الأَعادي أَو جُنودُ الأَساوِدِ
Just so, from making verses have I gained only
What plotted I against the cunning plotter!
فَأَصبَحَ مِن هَذي وَهاتيكَ قَبلَها
نَسيمُ المَنايا بارِقاً بَعدَ راعِدِ
كَذَلِكَ مِن شِعري جَنَيتُ الَّذي جَنَت
فَلَيتَ الَّذي كايَدتُهُ لِمُكايِدِ
