يا أَيُّها الشادي المُغَرِّدُ في الضُحى

أَهواكَ إِن تُنشِد وَإِن لَم تُنشِدِ

O you who sing joyfully in the morning glow

O chanting bird, warbling in the morning light,

I adore you whether you sing or not

I love you whether you sing or remain silent.

الفَنُّ فيكَ سَجِيَّةٌ لا صَنعَةٌ

وَالحُبُّ عِندَكَ كَالطَبيعَةِ سَرمَدي

Artistry in you is innate not acquired

Art within you is instinct, not craft,

And love to you is like eternal nature

And love, for you, is like nature itself—eternal.

فَإِذا سَكَتَّ فَأَنتَ لَحنٌ طائِرٌ

وَإِذا نَطَقتَ فَأَنتَ غَيرُ مُقَلِّدِ

So when you're silent, you're a flying melody

When you are silent, you are a melody on the wing,

And when you speak, you're no imitator

And when you voice your song, you imitate no one.

لِلَّهِ دَرُّكَ شاعِراً لا يَنتَهي

مِن جَيِّدٍ إِلا صَبا لِلأَجوَدِ

God bless you, a poet with no end

How magnificent a poet you are, never ceasing,

In excellence, save youth for the most generous

Turning from the good only to yearn for the best.

مَرَحُ الأَزهارِ في غِنائِك وَالشَذى

وَطَلاقَةُ الغُدران وَالفَجر وَالنَدى

The dance of flowers in your singing and the fragrance

The joy of blossoms and their fragrance live in your song,

And the freedom of the streams, dawn, and dew

As do the fluency of brooks, the dawn, and the dew.

وَكَأَنَّ زَورَكَ فيهِ أَلفُ كَمَنجَةٍ

وَكَأَنَّ صَدرَكَ فيهِ أَلفُ مُرَدِّدِ

As if your flute has a thousand fingered holes

It is as if your throat holds a thousand violins,

And your chest a thousand echoing chambers

And as if your chest contains a thousand choristers.

كَم زَهرَةٍ في السَفحِ خادِرَةِ المُنى

سَكَنَت عَلى يَأسٍ سُكونَ الجَلمَدِ

How many wilted flowers on the hillside

How many a flower on the hillside, with dormant desires,

Sank into the stillness of the frozen

Lay settled in despair, still as a rock?

غَنَّيتَها فَاِستَيقَظَت وَتَرَنَّحَت

وَتَأَلَّقَت كَالكَوكَبِ المُتَوَقِّدِ

You sang them and they awakened and sighed

You sang to it, and it awoke and swayed,

And shone like a flaming star

Shining bright as a burning star.

وَجَرى الهَوى فيها وَشاعَ بَشاشَةً

مَن لَم يُحِبَّ فَإِنَّهُ لَم يولَدِ

And passion flowed in them and joy spread

Passion flowed through it, spreading delight;

Who hasn't loved, he wasn't born

For he who has not loved has truly never been born.

وَكَأَنَّي بِكَ حينَ تَهتِفُ قائِلٌ

لِلزَهرِ إِنَّ الحُسنَ غَيرُ مُخَلَّدِ

And I see you when you cry out saying

It is as if, when you call out, you are saying

To the flowers, beauty does not last

To the flowers: "Beauty is not immortal."

فَاِستَنفِذي في الحُبِّ أَيّامَ الصِبا

وَاِستَرشِديهِ فَهوَ أَصدَقُ مُرشِدِ

So spend your days of youth in love

"So spend your days of youth entirely in love,"

And seek its guidance, for it's the truest guide

"And let love lead you, for it is the truest guide."

وَاِستَشهِدي فيهِ فَمِن سُخرِ القَضا

أَن لا تَذوقيه وَأَن تُستَشهَدي

And die for it, for by the tyranny of fate

"And become a martyr for it; for it is a mockery of fate"

You'll neither taste it nor be martyred

"To die without ever having tasted love."

يا فَيلَسوفاً قَد تَلاقى عِندَهُ

طَرَبُ الخَلِي وَحَرقَهُ المُتَوَجِّدِ

O philosopher who has found in himself

O philosopher, within whom meet

The madness of ecstasy and burning ardor

The mirth of the carefree and the burning of the passionate.

رَفَعَ الرَبيعُ لَكَ الأَرائِكَ في الرُبى

وَكَسا حَواشيها بُرودَ زَبَرجَدِ

Spring raised the cushions for you in the meadows

Spring has raised couches for you upon the hills,

And lined them with emeralds

And clothed their borders in cloaks of emerald.

أَنتَ المَليكُ لَهُ الضِياءُ مَقاصِرٌ

وَتَعيشُ عَيشَ الناسِكِ المُتَزَهِّدِ

You're the king whose kingdom is endless

You are the king whose palaces are made of light,

Yet you live like an ascetic monk

Yet you live the life of an ascetic hermit.

مُستَوفِزاً فَوقَ الثَرى مُتَنَقِّلاً

في الدَوحِ مِن غُصنٍ لِغُصنٍ أَملَدِ

Tempting over the land, traveling

Poised alert above the earth, moving

From branch to branch in the orchard

Among the great trees, from one tender branch to another.

مُتَزَوِّداً مِن كُلِّ حُسنٍ لَمحَةً

شَأنَ المُحِبِّ الثائِرِ المُتَمَرِّدِ

Taking from every beauty a hint

Gathering a glimpse from every beauty as provision,

The way of the passionate rebel

Like a lover, revolutionary and rebellious.

وَإِذا ظَفِرتَ بِنَفحَة وَبِقَطرَةٍ

فَلَقَد ظَفِرتَ بِرَوضَة وَبِمَورِدِ

And if you win a whiff or a drop

And if you capture but a breath of scent or a single drop,

You've won a garden and springs

You have captured a whole garden and a spring.

تَشدو وَتَبهَتُ حائِراً مُتَرَدِّداً

حَتّى كَأَنَّكَ حينَ تُعطي تَجتَدي

You sing and rave confused and hesitating

You sing, then fall silent, bewildered and hesitant,

As if when you give you overexert yourself

As if, even while giving, you are pleading for something.

وَتَمُدُّ صَوتَكَ في الفَضا مُتَلَهِّفاً

في ذَلَّةِ المُستَرحِمِ المُستَنجِدِ

And you extend your voice into the sky desperately

You stretch your voice across the void, yearning,

With the humiliation of one begging and pleading

With the humility of one seeking mercy and aid.

فَكَأَنَّما لَكَ مَوطِنٌ ضَيَّعتُهُ

خَلفَ الكَواكِبِ في الزَمانِ الأَبعَدِ

As if you once had a home you lost

As if you had a homeland that you lost,

Behind the stars in the furthest time

Beyond the stars, in a time long past.

وَطَنٌ جَميلٌ كُنتَ فيهِ سَيِّداً

فَمَضى وَدامَ عَلَيكَ هَمُّ السَيِّدِ

A beautiful homeland where you were master

A beautiful homeland where you were once master,

But it's gone and you remain full of a master's worries

That has vanished, though the master's burden remains with you.

طورِدتَ عَنهُ إِلى الحَضيضِ فَلَم تَزَل

مُتَلَفِّتاً كَالخائِفِ المُتَشَّرِدِ

Cast out to the lowest depths yet still

Expelled from there to this low earth, you remain

Looking around like a frightened vagrant

Forever looking back, like a frightened exile.

يَبدو لِعَينِكَ في العَتيقِ خَيالُهُ

وَتَراهُ في وَرَقِ الغُصونِ المَيَّدِ

It appears to your eye in antiquities its mirage

Its phantom appears to your eye in the twilight glow,

And you see it in the leaves' sway

And you see it in the leaves of swaying boughs.

صُوَرٌ مُعَدَّدَةٌ لِغَيرِ حَقيقَةٍ

كَالآلِ لاحَ لِمُعطِشٍ في فَدفَدِ

Images multiplied with no reality

Manifold images of something unreal,

Like a mirage for a thirsty man in the desert

Like a mirage appearing to the thirsty in a wasteland.

فَتَهُمُّ أَن تَدنو إِلَيه وَتَنثَني

حَتّى كَأَنَّكَ خائِفٌ أَن تَهتَدي

So you're eager to approach it and bend down

You move to approach it, then turn away,

As if you're afraid to find the way

As if you are afraid to find your way.

وَكَأَنَّهُ حُلمٌ يَصُحُّ مَعَ الكَرى

فَإِنِ اِنتَهَيتَ مِنَ الكَرى يَتَبدَّدِ

As if it's a dream that makes sense with fatigue

As if it is a dream that thrives in slumber,

For if you tire of fatigue, it will vanish

But when you wake from sleep, it scatters away.

كَم ذا نُفَتِّشُ في السُفوح وَفي الذُرى

وَنقاءُ أَقرَبُ مِنهُ لِلمُتَصَيِّدِ

Why do we search the hillsides and places

How long we search the valleys and the peaks,

When the pure air is closer to the hunter

While purity lies closer than the prey is to the hunter.

يا أَيُّها الشادي المُغرِّدُ في الضُحى

أَهواكَ إِن تُنشِد وَإِن لَم تُنشِدِ

O you who sing joyfully in the morning glow

O chanting bird, warbling in the morning light,

I adore you whether you sing or not

I love you whether you sing or remain silent.

طوباكَ إِنَّكَ لا تُفَكِّرُ في غَدٍ

بَدءُ الكَآبَةِ أَن تُفَكِّرَ في غَدِ

Blessed are you who don't think of tomorrow

Blessed are you, for you do not think of tomorrow;

The beginning of gloom is to think of tomorrow

The beginning of melancholy is to think of tomorrow.

إِن كُنتَ قَد ضَيَّعتَ إِلفَكَ إِنَّني

أَبكي طَلى إِلفي الَّذي لَم يوجَدِ

If you have lost your intimacy, I

If you have lost your mate, know that I

Weep for my intimacy that never was

Weep for the phantom of a mate who was never found.