قُل لِلحَمائِمِ في ضِفافِ الوادي
يا لَيتَكُنَّ عَلى شَغافِ فُؤادي
Say to the doves upon the valley’s banks,
"I wish you were perched within the depths of my heart,
لِتَرَيَنَّ كَيفَ تَبَعثَرَت أَحلامُهُ
وَجَرَت بِهِ الآلامُ خَيلَ طِرادِ
To see how its dreams have been scattered,
And how pains have raced through it like horses in pursuit.
كانَت تَشُعُّ عَلى جَوانِبِهِ المُنى
فَخَبَت وَبَدَّلَ جَمرَها بِرَمادِ
Hopes used to radiate upon its sides,
But they faded, and it exchanged its embers for cold ash.
أَسعِدنَهُ فَعَسى يَخُفُّ وُلوعُهُ
إِنَّ الشَجِيَّ أَحَقُّ بِالإِسعادِ
Sing to it, for perhaps its passion may lighten;
Truly, the sorrowful one is most deserving of joy.
ذَهَبَ الصِبا وَبَقَيتِ في حَسَراتِهِ
لَيتَ الأَسى مِثلَ الصِبا لِنَفادِ
Youth has departed, and you remain amidst its regrets;
Would that sorrow were like youth, destined to end!
إِنَّ الشَبابَ هُوَ الغِنى فَإِذا مَضى
وَأَقَمتَ لا يَنفَكُّ فَقرَكَ بادي
Youth is true wealth; so when it passes,
And you remain, your poverty never ceases to show.
أَمسَيتُ أَنظُرُ في الحَياةِ فَلا أَرى
إِلّا سَواداً آخِذاً بِسَوادِ
I have come to look upon life and see nothing,
Save darkness grasping at darkness.
أَلقى الصَباحَ فَلا يَطولُ تَأَمُّلي
حَتّى يَحولُ شُعاعُهُ لِصَعادِ
I meet the morning, but my contemplation does not last,
Before its beams turn into rising dust.
وَإِذا تُقابِلُني النُجومُ تَخاوَصَت
فَكَأَنَّما هِيَ أَعيُنُ الحُسّادِ
And when the stars confront me, they squint,
As though they were the eyes of the envious.
ما ثَمَّ ذِكرى إِذا خَطَرَت عَلى
قَلبي اِستَراحَ سِوى خَيالِ الوادي
There is no memory there—if it crosses my mind,
My heart finds rest—except the phantom of the valley.
أَفَلا تَزالُ الشَمسُ تَصبُغُ وَجهَهُ
بِالوَرسِ آوِنَة وَبِالفِرصادِ
Does the sun still dye its face,
With saffron at times, and crimson mulberry at others?
أَفَلا يَزالُ يَذوبُ في أَمواجِهِ
ذَهَبُ الأَصيل وَفَضَّةُ الآرادِ
Does there still melt into its waves,
The gold of the twilight and the silver of the ripples?
لَهَفي إِذا وَرَدَ الرِفاقُ عَشِيَّةً
وَذَكَرتُ أَنّي لَستُ في الرُوّادِ
My sorrow arises when companions arrive at evening,
And I remember that I am not among the visitors,
وَإِذا الحَمامُ شَدا وَصَفَّقَ مَوجُهُ
أَن لا أُصَفِّقَ لِلحِمامِ الشادي
And when the dove sings and its waves clap,
That I am not there to applaud the singing dove,
وَإِذا النَخيلُ تَطاوَلَت أَظلالُهُ
أَن لا يَكونَ مِظَلَّتي وَوِسادي
And when the palm trees extend their shadows,
That they are not my canopy nor my pillow,
وَإِذا الكَواكِبُ رَصَّعَت آفاقُهُ
أَن لا يَكونَ لِرَعيِهِنَّ سُهادي
And when the stars bejewel its horizons,
That my sleeplessness is not spent tending to them.
ذُقتُ الهَوى وَعَرَفتُهُ في شَطِّهِ
إِنَّ الهَوى لِلمَرءِ كَالميلادِ
I tasted love and knew it upon its banks;
Truly, love to a man is like a second birth.
لا تُدرِكُ الأَكبادُ سِرَّ وُجودِها
حَتّى يَجولُ الحُبُّ في الأَكبادِ
Hearts do not grasp the secret of their existence,
Until love roams freely within them.
ما عُشتُ لَم يَمسُس جَوانِحَكَ الهَوى
لَم نَدرِ ما في العَيشِ مِن أَمجادِ
As long as you live, if love has not touched your ribs,
We know not what glories lie in life.
لا تُبصِرُ العَينُ الرِياض وَحَليَها
إِلّا عَلى ضَوءِ الصَباحِ الهادي
The eye does not perceive the gardens and their ornaments,
Except by the light of the calm morning.
وَطَنانِ أَشوَقُ ما أَكونُ إِلَيهِما
مِصرُ الَّتي أَحبَبتُها وَبِلادي
Two homelands I yearn for most:
Egypt, which I have loved, and my own country.
وَمَواطِنُ الأَرواحِ يَعظُمُ شَأنَها
في النَفسِ فَوقَ مَواطِنِ الأَجسادِ
And the homelands of souls hold greater significance,
Within the self, than the homelands of bodies.
حِرصي عَلى حُبِّ الكِنانَةِ دونَهُ
حِرصُ السَجينِ عَلى بَقايا الزادِ
My zeal for the love of Egypt is matched only,
By the zeal of a prisoner for the last of his provisions.
بَلَدَ الجَمالي خَفِيِّه وَجَلِيِّهِ
وَالفَنِّ مِن مُستَطرِف وَتِلادِ
Land of beauty, both hidden and revealed,
And of art, both novel and ancient.
عَرَضَت مَواكِبَها الشُعوبُ فَلَم أَجِد
إِلّا بِمِصرَ نَضارَةَ الآبادِ
Nations displayed their processions, yet I found not,
Save in Egypt, the freshness of eternity.
كَم مِن دَفينٍ في ثَراها لَم يَزَل
كَالحَيِّ ذا مِقَة وَذا أَحقادِ
How many buried in its soil remain,
Like the living, possessing love and possessing malice,
وَمُشَيَّدٍ لِلناسِ إِذ يَغشونَهُ
مِن كُلِّ أَرضٍ خِشيَةَ العُبّادِ
And edifices built for people, which they visit,
From every land, with the reverence of worshippers.
عاشَ الجُدود وَأَثَّلوا ما أَثَّلوا
وَاليَومَ يَنبَعِثونَ في الأَحفادِ
The ancestors lived and established what they established,
And today they are resurrected in the grandchildren,
المُسبِغينَ عَلى النَوابِغِ فَضلَهُم
كَالفَجرِ مُنبَسِطاً عَلى الأَطوادِ
Who bestow their bounty upon geniuses,
Like the dawn spreading over the mountains.
أَبناءَ مِصرَ الناهِضينَ تَحِيَّةً
كَوَدادِكُم إِن لَم أَقُل كَوَدادي
O rising sons of Egypt, a greeting to you,
Like your affection, if I do not say like mine,
مِن شاعِرٍ كَلِفٍ بِكُم وَبِأَرضِكُم
أَبَداً يُوالي فيكُم وَيُعادي
From a poet enamored with you and with your land,
Who forever befriends and makes enemies for your sake.
إِن تُكرِموا شَيخَ الصَحافَةِ تُكرَموا
أَسنى الكَواكِبِ في سَماءِ الضادِ
If you honor the Sheikh of the Press, you honor,
The brightest star in the sky of the Arabic tongue.
خَلَعَ الشَبابُ عَلى الكِنانَةِ مُطرَفاً
هُوَ كَالرَبيعِ عَلى رُبىً وَوِهادِ
Youth has draped a robe over Egypt,
That is like spring upon the hills and valleys.
ما زالَ يُقحِمُ في الجَهالَةِ نورُهُ
حَتّى تَقاصَرَ لَيلُها المُتَمادي
His light continued to charge against ignorance,
Until its prolonged night grew short,
بِصَحيفَةٍ نورُ العُيونِ سَوادُها
وَبَياضُها مِن ناصِعِ الأَجيادِ
With a journal whose black ink is the light of eyes,
And whose whiteness is like pure, noble necks,
يُنبوعُ مَعرِفَة وَهَيكَلُ حِكمَةٍ
وَوِعاءُ آداب وَكُنزُ رَشادِ
A spring of knowledge and a temple of wisdom,
A vessel of literature and a treasure of guidance.
أَغلى المَواهِب وَالعُقولِ رَأَيتُها
سَكَنَت قُصورَ مَهارِق وَمِدادِ
The most precious talents and minds I have seen,
Have dwelt in palaces of parchment and ink.
ذِكرُ المَجاهِدِ في الحَقيقَةِ خالِدٌ
وَيَزولُ رُبَّ السَيف وَالأَجنادِ
The memory of one who struggles for truth is eternal,
While the lord of the sword and armies vanishes.
لَولا جَبابِرَةُ القَرائِحِ لَم يَسِر
في الأَرضِ ذِكرُ جَبابِرِ القُوّادِ
Were it not for the giants of intellect, there would not travel,
Upon the earth the fame of the giants of command.
ما ذَلَّلتُ سُبُلَ المَعالي أُمَّةٌ
إِلّا بِقُوَّةِ مُصلِحٍ أَو هادي
No nation has paved the paths of glory,
Except by the power of a reformer or a guide.
صَرّوفٌ يَسأَلُكَ الأَنامُ فَقُل لَهُم
كَم في حَياتِكَ ساعَةَ اِستِشهادِ
Sarruf, the people ask you, so tell them:
How many hours of martyrdom are in your life?
طَلَعَ القُنوطُ عَلَيكَ مِن أَغوارِهِ
فَرَدَدتَ طائِرَه وَجَأشُكَ هادي
Despair rose upon you from its depths,
But you repelled its omen while your heart was calm.
وَمَضَيتَ تَستَقصي الحَياة وَسِرَّها
في كُلِّ عاقِلَة وَكُلِّ جَمادِ
And you went on investigating life and its secret,
In every sentient being and every inanimate object,
حَتّى لَكِدتَ تُحِسَّ هاجِسَةَ المُنى
وَتَبينَ كَم في النَفسِ مِن أَضدادِ
Until you almost felt the whisper of hopes,
And realized how many opposites exist within the soul.
أَنتَ الَّذي أَسرَت بِهِ عَزَماتُهُ
وَالدَربُ غامِضَةٌ عَلى الرُوّادِ
You are the one whose determinations journeyed by night,
While the path was obscure even to the pioneers,
وَاللَيلُ آفاتٌ عَلى أَغوارِها
وَالهَولُ أَنجادٌ عَلى الأَنجادِ
And the night was a plague upon the lowlands,
And terror was high plateaus upon the high plateaus.
إِنَّ الحَقائِقَ أَنتَ ناشِرٌ بَندَها
في حينِ كانَ العِلمُ كَالإِلحادِ
Verily, truths—you are the unfurler of their banner,
At a time when science was treated like heresy,
وَالعَقلُ في الشَرقِيِّ مِن أَوهامِهِ
كَالنَسرِ في الأَوهاق وَالأَصفادِ
And the intellect of the Easterner, due to his illusions,
Was like an eagle in snares and shackles.
تَشقى مَتى تَشقى الشُعوبُ بِجَهلِها
وَتَعُزُّ حينَ تَعُزُّ بِالأَفرادِ
Nations suffer when they suffer due to their ignorance,
And they become mighty when they become mighty through individuals,
الساهِرينَ اللَيلَ مِثلَ نُجومِهِ
فَكَأَنَّهُم لِلدَهرِ بِالمِرصادِ
Those who stay awake at night like its stars,
As if they are lying in wait for Time itself,
الباذِلينَ نُفوسَهُم لَم يَسأَلوا
وَعَلى النُفوسِ مَدارِعُ الفولادِ
Who sacrifice their souls, asking for nothing,
While upon their souls are armors of steel.
خَفَضوا جَناحَهُم وَتَحتَ بُرودِهِم
هِمَمُ المُلوك وَصَولَةُ المُرّادِ
They lowered their wing in humility, yet beneath their cloaks,
Are the ambitions of kings and the assault of conquerors.
لَهُمُ الزَمانُ قَديمُه وَحَديثُهُ
ما الناسُ في الدُنيا سِوى الآحادِ
To them belongs Time, its ancient and its modern;
People in this world are nothing but the unique few.
إِنَّ الأَنامَ عَلى اِختِلافِ عُصورِهِم
جَعَلوا لِأَهلِ العِلمِ صَدرَ النادي
Truly, mankind, throughout their varying ages,
Have assigned the forefront of the assembly to the people of knowledge.
ما العيدُ لِلخَمسينَ بَل عيدُ النُهى
وَفُنونِه وَالخاطِرِ الوَقّادِ
This is not a festival for the fifty years, but a festival of the mind,
And of its arts, and of the burning intellect,
عيفدُ الحَصافَة وَالصَحافَةِ كُلِّها
في مِصرَ في بَيروتَ في بَغداسدِ
The festival of prudence and of all journalism,
In Egypt, in Beirut, and in Baghdad.
ما العَيشُ بِالأَعوامِ كَم مِن حِقبَةٍ
كَالمَحوِ في عُمرِ السَوادِ العادي
Life is not measured by years; how many eras,
Are like oblivion in the lifespan of the common multitude?
العُمرُ إِلّا بِالمَآثِرِ فارِغٌ
كَالقَفرِ طالَ بِهِ عَناءُ الحادي
Life, without glorious deeds, is empty,
Like a wasteland where the singer's toil is long.
وَسِوى حَياةِ العَبقَرِيِّ نَقيسُها
فَتُقاسُ بِالآجال وَالآمادِ
But the life of the genius, we measure it otherwise,
For it is measured by eternities and epochs.
