باتَ وَالكَأسُ في الظَلامِ

في حَديثٍ وَلا كَلام

The cup remains as darkness falls

He spent the night with the cup in the darkness,

In talk, with not a word,

In a conversation without words,

هِيَ في صَمتِها تُضيءُ

وَهَوَ في صَمتِهِ يُضام

It in its silence sheds a light

She, in her silence, shines bright,

While he in silence feels the hurt.

While he, in his silence, suffers wrong.

شاعِرٌ أَنفَقَ الصِبا

مِن غَرامٍ إِلى غَرام

A poet who spent his youth

A poet who spent his youth,

In love and loving yet,

Drifting from one passion to another,

ذاهِلُ النَفسِ بِالرُأى

عَن حُطامٍ وَذي حُطام

His soul forgot all wisdom

His soul distracted by visions,

And poverty and wealth.

Away from debris and those who hoard it,

وَعَنِ الفَقرِ وَالغِنى

وَعَنِ الحَربِ وَالسَلام

Forgot both war and peace,

Away from poverty and wealth,

Forgot the lips whence he had quaffed

Away from war and peace.

بِالشِفاهِ الَّتي طَفا

بَينَ أَهدابِها الأُوام

The wine that passed between their locks

Occupied with lips upon which floated,

In sips. Forgot the singing girls

Between their lashes, a burning thirst,

بِالغَواني تُطيعُهُ

وَالغَواني لَها اِحتِكام

Who hearkened to him.

With beautiful women who obey him,

To their leader looked for judgment.

Though beautiful women hold command.

بِالشَذى وَهوَ فائِحٌ

وَالشَذى وَهوَ بِالكَمام

Forgot the fragrance spreading wide,

With the fragrance when it wafts,

Forgot the veil and turban's shroud,

And the fragrance hidden in the buds,

بِالسَحابِ الَّذي يَسُحُّ

وَبِالخادِعِ الجَهام

The clouds that shower with teeming rain,

With the clouds that pour forth rain,

All light that Life can live among.

And with the deceptive, dry clouds,

بِالئغاريدِ وَالبَلابِلِ

وَالنورِ وَالخُزام

Forgot the birds that sing their song,

With melodies and nightingales,

As flowers bloom in spring's glad dress.

With blossoms and lavender.

حَولَهُ الكَونُِ في وَغىً

وَهوَ وَالكَونُ في وِئام

About is still the universe

The universe around him is in turmoil,

While he and space in concord dwell.

Yet he and the universe are in harmony.

ما لَهُ الآنَ وَحدَهُ

ساكِنُ العِرقِ كَالنِيام

He's now alone. Still flows his sweat

What is wrong with him now, alone,

As when he slumbered deep. Awake,

With still veins, like those who sleep?

ساهِرٌ غَيرَ أَنَّهُ

خادِرُ الروحِ وَالعِظام

His soul and bones are numbed in sleep.

He is awake, yet he is

Mute as his books whose words still gleam,

Numb in spirit and in bone.

صامِتٌ مِثلُ كُتبِهِ

وَكَدُنيا بِلا أَنام

A world without an eye asleep.

Silent as his books,

Does hunger bite him? In his home

Like a world void of people.

أَتُرى عَضَّهُ الطَُى

لا فَفي بَيتِهِ طَعام

Is still no food. The wine cup stands

Has hunger bitten him, perhaps?

Beside him ever. Still filled up.

No, for there is food within his home.

لَم تَزَل كَأسُهُ لَدَي

هِ وَفي كَأسِهِ مُدام

Lightning smiles on him, wolves weep by,

His cup is still before him,

The stars circle in the dark,

And in his cup flows wine.

وَلَهُ تَضحَكُ البُروقُ

وَيَبكي الحَيا السَجام

Dew clothes itself in varied hues

For him, the lightning laughs,

As clouds take on their garb.

And the pouring rain weeps.

وَلَهُ تَرتَعي الكَواكِبُ

في مَسرَحِ الظَلام

The fragrance breathes its perfume forth,

For him, the stars wander freely

More wine is pressed. The dew still shines,

Across the theater of darkness.

وَلَهُ تَلبِسُ الرُبى

بُرُدَ النورِ وَالغَمام

The doves echo their plaintive moan.

For him, the hills robe themselves

Still lovely is the trysting place,

In cloaks of light and cloud.

وَلَهُ يَعبَقُ الشَذى

وَلَهُ تُعصَرُ المُدام

Still noble is the horseman bold.

For him, the fragrance spreads,

All, all is his, no other shares.

And for him, the wine is pressed.

وَلَهُ يَلمَعُ النَدى

وَلَهُ يَسجَعُ الحَمام

Unlawful would it be to take.

For him, the dew glistens,

Indifferent is he, though it seems

And for him, the dove coos.

وَلَهُ الغادَةُ المَليحَةُ

وَالفارِسُ الهُمام

He cares for nothing else. Does he

For him is the beautiful maiden,

Now wear a mask upon his face?

And the gallant knight.

كُلُّها كُلُّها لَهُ

وَعَلى غَيرِهِ حَرام

Like statues round him wrought of brass

All of it, all of it is his,

Or carved from marble gleaming pure,

And forbidden to anyone else.

وَهوَ ساهٍ كَأَنَّما

بِسِواها لَهُ مَرام

No sorrow and no happiness,

Yet he is listless, as if

No weeping and no smiling grace.

He seeks a goal elsewhere.

وَجهُهُ غَيرُ وَجهِهِ

أَم عَلى وَجهِهِ لِثام

A night whose bitterness would last

His face is not his own,

A thousand years. Though beauty stays

Or does a veil cover his features?

كَالتَماثيلِ حَولَهُ

مِن نُحاسٍ وَمِن رُخام

The ecstasy of song has died.

Like the statues around him,

For him the world's a grave, the whole

Of copper and of marble.

لا اِكتِئابٌ وَلا رِضى

لا بُكاءٌ وَلا اِبتِسام

A ruin and debris scattered wide.

Neither sorrow nor contentment,

Neither weeping nor a smile.

لَيلَةٌ ما أَمَرَّها

لَيلَةُ اليَأسِ أَلفُ عام

A night—how bitter it is!

The night of despair spans a thousand years.

بَقِيَ الحُسنُ إِنَّما

ماتَ في الشعِرِ الهُيام

Beauty remains, but alas,

Passion has died within the verse.

فَإِذا الكَونُ عِندَهُ

جَدَثٌ كُلُّهُ رِمام

And so, to him, the universe becomes

A grave filled with decayed bones.