عودي عَلَيَّ وَلَو كَلَمحِ النَاظِري

لِيَعودَ لي زَمَنُ الشَبابِ الناضِرِ

Return to me, even if just for a glance

So the time of blossoming youth may come back to me

فَأَلَذُّ عَيشٍ ما اِنقَضى وَتَراجَعَت

كَرَماً بِهِ أَيدي الزَمانِ الغادِرِ

The sweetest life is what has passed and gone

As a generous gift of fickle time

كُلُّ اللَيالي الماضِياتِ خَلاعَةٌ

تَفدي نَعيمَكَ يا لَيالي حاجِرِ

All the bygone nights are naught

Compared to your bliss, O intimate nights

ما كانَ أَسرَعَ ما اِنقَضَت فَكَأَنَّما

كانَت مَناماً في جَناحَي طائِرِ

Nothing passed more quickly than they did

As if they were but a dream on the wings of a bird

وَليتبعنَّ القَلبَ فيكَ مِنَ الأَسى

بِأَوائِلٍ مَوصولَةٍ بِأَواخِرِ

And may my heart pursue in you sorrows

Linked, beginnings to ends

وَأَحِنُّ حَنَّةَ ذاكِرٍ مُتَجاوِزٍ

لِرَسيسِ لَوعَتِهِ حَنينَ الذاكِرِ

And I yearn with the yearning of one remembering

Beyond the murmur of his grief, the yearning of the rememberer

كانَ الصِبا زَماناً أَرَقَّ مِنَ الصِبا

وَأَلَذَّ مِن غَفَواتِ عَينِ الساهِرِ

My youth was a time gentler than youth

And sweeter than the slumber of a wakeful eye

وَلّى وَما بَرَحَت نَضارَةَ عودِهِ

وَجَمالُ تاجِ جَمالِهِ في ناظِري

It passed, yet the blossoming of its return

And the beauty of its beautiful crown did not fade from my sight

أَشكو الفِراقَ وَإِنها لشِكايَة

كَالنارِ في الأَحشاءِ ذاتَ شَرائِرِ

I complain of separation, though it is a complaint

Like fire in the entrails, having sparks

آهاً عَلى نَجدٍ وَأَيّامٍ بِها

أَيّامَ أَفراحي وَعَصرَ بَشائِري

Alas for Najd and the days in it

Days of my joy and the time of good tidings

ما كُنتُ أَقنَعُ بِالتَواصُلِ مِنهُم

وَاليَومَ أَقنَع بِالخَيالِ الزَائِرِ

I was not content with keeping in touch with them

And today I am content with the occasional phantom

وَأَغَنَّ أَسغَفَ ما يَكونُ بِحُبِّهِ

يَوماً إِذا خَطَرَ السُلُوُّ بِخاطِري

He who loves it is consoled by the least of its traces

When solace crosses my mind

أَدنى صَبابَةِ مُهجَتي فيهِ الَّذي

أَضحَت حَديث عَجائِبَ وَنَوادِرِ

The dearest apple of my eye, in whom is that

Which has become a tale of wonders and rarities

ما زالَ قَلبي بِالأَسى مُتَأَنِّساً

مُذ لَقَّبوهُ بِالغَزالِ النافِرِ

My heart has not ceased being intimate with sorrow

Since they titled him the nimble gazelle

يا قَلبُ قَد بَيَّنتَ فيهِ صَبابَةً

فَيَفوقُ مِن عَينَيهِ كَيد الساحِرِ

Oh heart, you have shown your youthfulness in him

To surpass the sorcery of a sorcerer’s eye

كَيفَ الخَلاصُ وَكُلُّ أَسوَدَ فاتِرٍ

أَضحى يَصولُ بكُلَّ أَبيَضَ فاتِرِ

How can I be saved when all the apathetic blacks

Have become raging at every apathetic white?