عِش لِلجَمالِ تَراهُ العَينُ مُؤتَلَقاً

في أَنجُمِ اللَيلِ أَو زَهرِ البَساتينِ

Live for beauty, you will find it sparkling

Live for beauty that the eye beholds shimmering, in the stars of the night or the garden’s blooms,

In stars of the night or flowers of gardens,

And in the hills, where the hand of the setting sun has pitched a pavilion of gold for the fragrant basil,

وَفي الرُبى نَصَبَت كَفُّ الأَصيلِ بِها

سُرادِقاً مِن نُضارٍ لِلرَياحينِ

And palms have erected with it as a roof

And in the mountains, when the evening roams about them, and wraps them in the somber cloaks of monks,

A pavilion of vitality for the winds.

And in the brooks, possessing the babble of a child, and in the lightning, the laughter of the mad,

وَفي الجِبالِ إِذا طافَ المَساءُ بِها

وَلَفَّها بِسَرابيلِ الرَهابينِ

And in mountains, when evening circulates around them

And in the smiles of May and its splendor—or, should it pass, within the eyelids of October.

Draping them in robes of awe,

There is no set time for beauty, no limit to measure it; for it is we who belong to limits and to time.

وَفي السَواقي لَها كَالطِفلِ ثَرثَرَةٌ

وَفي البُروقِ لَها ضِحكُ المَجانينِ

And in streams it has a child’s chatter

How often it has rippled in the gown of a beauty, and how often sparkled in the rags of a wretch,

And in lightnings, the laughter of the ecstatic.

And how often a blind man felt it and became enraptured, while around him a thousand seers remained unmoved.

وَفي اِبتِساماتِ أَيّارٍ وَرَوعَتِها

فَإِن تَوَلّى فَفي أَجفانِ تِشرينِ

And in the smiles of a moon, and her glory

Live for beauty as you see it here and there, and live for it as a secret, deeply concealed,

And if she turns away, it is in the eyelids of September.

For that is far better than those who hold no yearning for beauty—mere statues formed of clay.

لا حينَ لِلحُسنِ لا حَدَّ يُقاسُ بِهِ

وَإِنَّما نَحنُ أَهلُ الحَدِّ وَالحينِ

There is no time for beauty, no limit by which it's measured,

But we are the people of limit and time.

فَكَم تَماوَجَ في سِربالِ غانِيَةٍ

وَكَم تَأَلَّقَ في أَسمالِ مِسكينِ

So how it has throbbed in the dress of a singing girl,

And how it has shone in the clothes of a pauper!

وَكَم أَحَسَّ بِهِ أَعمى فَجُنَّ لَهُ

وَحَولَهُ أَلفُ راءٍ غَيرِ مَفتونِ

And how a blind man has felt it and raved,

While all around him scoffed and were not enthralled.

عِش لِلجَمالِ تَراهُ هَهُنا وَهُنا

وَعِش لَهُ وَهوَ سِرٌّ جِدُّ مَكنونِ

Live for beauty, you will find it here and there,

Live for it, it is genuinely a secret treasure.

خَيرٌ وَأَفضَلُ مِمَّن لا حَنينَ لَهُم

إِلى الجَمالِ تَماثيلٌ مِنَ الطينِ

Better and superior than those who feel no yearning

For beauty - merely idols of clay.