أَيُّها الشاعِرُ الَّذي كانَ يَشدو
بَينَ ضاحٍ مِنَ الجَمالِ وَضاحِك
O poet who used to sing
Amidst the radiant and smiling faces of beauty,
جَلَلٌ أَن يَصيدَكَ القَدَرُ الأَع
مى وَيَمشي مِقَصُّهُ في جَناحِك
It is a grave calamity that blind fate should hunt you down,
And that its shears should cut through your wings.
وَمَوكِبُ الشِعرِ تائِهٌ في فَضاءٍ
لَيسَ فيهِ سِوى حَطيمِ سِلاحِك
While the procession of poetry wanders lost in a void,
Containing nothing but the wreckage of your broken weapons.
وَالبَساتين وَالبَلابِلُ فيها
تَتَغَنّى حَزينَةٌ لِرَواحِك
And the orchards, with the nightingales within them,
Sing sorrowfully for your departure.
وَقَنِعَت بِالنُواحِ مِنكَ فَلَمّا
زالَ عاشَت بِذِكرَياتِ نُواحِك
They had been content with your plaintive songs, but when
You passed away, they lived on the memories of your lamentations.
وَالدُجى وَالنُجومُ تَسطَعُ فيهِ
واجِمٌ حَسرَةً عَلى مِصباحِك
And the darkness, with the stars shining within it,
Stands silent in grief over your extinguished lamp.
تَلمُسُ العَينُ أَينَما لَمَستُهُ
جَمَراتِ التَياحِنا وَالتَياحِك
Wherever the eye casts its gaze upon it, it touches
The burning embers of our yearning and yours.
قَد تَوَلَّت جَلالَةُ السِحرِ عَنهُ
وَاِضمَحَلَّت مُذ صارَ غَيرَ وِشاحِك
The majesty of magic has departed from it,
And faded away since it ceased to be your adornment.
هَبَطَت رَبَّةُ الحَياةِ لِكَي تَس
كُبَ خَمرَ الجَمالِ في أَقداحِك
The Goddess of Life descended to pour
The wine of beauty into your chalices,
فَإِذا أَنتَ في السَريرِ مُسَجّى
سامِتٌ كَالطُيوفِ في أَلواحِك
But she found you shrouded upon your bed,
Silent as the phantoms within your own canvases.
فَتَوَلَّت مَذعورَةً تَلطُمُ الوَج
ه وَتُبكيكَ يا قَتيلَ سَماحِك
She turned away in terror, beating her face,
And weeping for you, O victim of your own benevolence.
سَبَقَتها إِلاهَةُ المَوتُ كَي تُح
ظى وَلَو بِاليَسيرِ مِن أَفراحِك
The Goddess of Death had outpaced her, to claim
Even the slightest portion of your joys.
وَيحَها وَيحَ حُبِّها مِن أَثيمٍ
طَرَدَتنا وَلَم تُقَم في ساحِك
Woe to her, and woe to her love, for the sin
Of driving us away, though she could not dwell in your courtyard.
أَيبَسَت رَوضَكَ الجَميل وَلَم تَظ
فَر بِغَيرِ التُرابِ مِن أَدواحِك
She withered your beautiful garden, yet won
Nothing but dust from your towering trees.
ذَهَب المَوتُ بِالكُؤوسِ جَميعاً
غَيرَ كَأسٍ مَلَأتَها مِن جِراحِك
Death has taken away all the cups,
Save for a single cup you filled from your own wounds.
وقال أيضاً:
هاتِها في القَدَحِ نَسمَةً في شَبَحِ
And he also said:
Pour it into the goblet: a spirit within a phantom form,
هاتِها فَالنَفسُ في حاجَةٍ لِلفَرَحِ
وَاِسقِنيها كَوثَرا وَعَلَيَّ اِقتَرِحِ
Pour it out, for the soul is in desperate need of joy.
Give me a drink of that nectar, and propose a toast,
إِن تَكُن قَد حَرَّمتَ فَعَلى المُستَقبَحِ
هِيَ في سُفرَتِها تَلعَةُ المُفتَضَحِ
If it has been forbidden, the ban applies only to what is vile.
In its amber glow, it exposes all secrets,
وَهِيَ في حُمرَتِها كَخَديدِ المُسَتحي
وَهِيَ في شِدَّتِها ثَورَةُ المُجتَرِحِ
While in its redness, it resembles the blushing cheek of the shy.
In its potency, it is the rebellion of the one who dares,
وَهِيَ في رِقَّتِها خاطِرٌ لَم يَلُحِ
أَتُراها شَفَقاً كُلِّلَت بِالصُبحِ
And in its subtlety, it is a fleeting thought unseen.
Do you see it as twilight crowned by the dawn?
أَم هِيَ الوَجناتُ قَد ذَوِّبَت في قَدَحِ
Or is it the crimson of cheeks melted down into a cup?
