رَحِّب بِضَيفِ الأُنسِ قَد أَقبَلا

وَاِجلُ دُجى الهَمِّ بِشَمسِ العَقار

Welcome the guest of fellowship—he has arrived.

Dispel care's darkness with the sun of wine.

وَلا تَسَل دَهرَكَ عَمّا جَناه

فَما لَيالي العُمرِ إِلّا قِصار

Do not ask your age what wrong it has wrought,

for the nights of life are nothing but brief.

عِندي لِأَحداثِ اللَيالي رَحيق

تَرُدُّ في الشَيحِ اِرتِياحَ الشَباب

For the assaults of the nights, I have a nectar

that restores youth's delight in an old man.

كَأَنَّما في الكاسِ مِنها حَريق

وَفي يَدِ الشارِبِ مِنها خِضاب

As though there were a fire within the cup,

and in the drinker's hand, its crimson dye.

وَحَقِّها ما هِيَ إِلّا عَقيق

أَجرَيتُ أَنفاسِيَ فيهِ فَذاب

By its truth, it is nothing but carnelian:

I breathed my breath into it, and it melted.

فَاِجنِ المُنى بَينَ الطِلى وَالطُلا

واِقدَح عَلى الأَقداحِ مِنها شَرار

So reap desire between fair necks and wine,

and strike from goblets its sparks.

وَقُل لِناهٍ ضَلَّ عَنهُ نُهاه

كَفى الصِبا عُذراً لِخَلعِ العِذار

Say to a censor whose good sense has strayed:

Youth is excuse enough to cast restraint aside.

وَلَيلَةٍ مُسوَدَّةٍ المَفرِقِ

مَدَّت عَلى وَجهِ الضُحى أَطنَبَه

And many a night, black at the parting of its hair,

stretched its tent ropes over morning's face.

وَاللَيلُ هادي السِربِ لا يَتَّقي

وَالصُبحُ قَد نامَ فَلَمّا اِنتَبَه

Night led the caravan, fearing nothing;

dawn lay asleep—but when it awoke,

أَرسَلَ بِالفَجرِ إِلى المَشرِقِ

فَاِرتَفَعَت رايَتُهُ المُذهَبَه

it sent daybreak toward the east,

and its gilded banner rose.

وَاِنتَبَهَت لِلشُهبِ تِلكَ الحُلى

وَفاضَ في الآفاقِ نَهرُ النَهار

Those ornaments, the blazing stars, awakened,

and the river of daylight flooded the horizons.

مِثلَ أَبي العَيشِ تَجَلّى سَناه

في مُظلِمِ الخَطبِ فَجَلّى الغِمار

Like Abu al-ʿAysh, whose radiance shone forth,

and in the dark of calamity cleared the fray.

يا مُشرِفاً يُرجى كَما يُتَّقى

يا مُنقِذَ الغَرقى وَآسي الِجراح

O lofty one, hoped in as much as feared,

O rescuer of the drowning, healer of wounds,

أَحلَلتَ مِن قَلبِكَ حُبَّ البَقا

مَنزِلَةَ المالِ بِأَيدي الشِحاح

you gave the love of lasting life within your heart

the place that wealth holds in misers' hands.

وَالشُكرُ أَضحى حُسنُهُ مورِقا

لَمّا سَقاهُ مِنكَ ماءُ السَماح

Gratitude's beauty has grown verdant

since the water of your liberality watered it.

كَم مِعصَمٍ لِلمَجدِ قَد عُطِّلا

فَصُغتَ مِن حَمدِكَ فيهِ سِوار

How many a wrist of glory had gone bare,

and from your praise you forged it a bracelet;

وَكَم ثَناءٍ قَد تَوانَت خُطاه

كَسَوتَهُ ريشَ الأَيادي فَطار

how much praise had let its footsteps lag,

until you clad it in the feathers of favors, and it flew.

فَجِّر عَلى الطِرسِ صَحيحاً عَليل

مُؤَلِّفاً بَينَ الدُجى وَالسَنا

Make the sound yet ailing one gush across the page,

joining darkness and radiance,

كَالصَخرَةِ الصَمّاءِ لَكِن يَسيل

ريقاً كَريقِ النَحلِ عَذبِ الجَنى

like mute rock, and yet it flows,

with saliva like the bee's, sweet in its harvest.

عَجِبتُ مِنهُ مِن قَصيرٍ طَويل

وَذي ذُبولٍ مُثمِرٍ بِالمُنى

I marvel at it: a long thing, though short,

a withered thing, yet fruitful with desires.

هامَ صَغيراً في طِلابِ العُلا

حَتّى عَلَتهُ رِقَّةٌ وَاِصفِرار

Young, it wandered in pursuit of the heights,

until thinness and pallor overtook it.

وَإِنَّما الرِقَّةُ أَسنى حَلاه

لَيسَ الضَنى عَيباً لِبيضِ الشِفار

Yet slenderness is the fairest of its ornaments;

wasting is no blemish in white blades.

ما الدَهرُ في التَحقيقِ إِلّا هَجير

وَأَنتَ ظِلٌّ مِنهُ لِلّائِذين

Time, in truth, is nothing but noonday blaze,

and you are shade from it for those seeking refuge.

ما زِلتَ في المَجدِ قَليلَ النَظير

مُكَثِّرَ العافينَ وَالحاسِدين

In glory you have never ceased to be nearly peerless,

multiplying both petitioners and enviers.

فَاِحبِس عَلى الجودِ لِواءَ الأَمير

سَيفاً وَخُذ رايَتُهُ بِاليَمين

Fix the prince's banner over generosity—

a sword—and take its standard in your right hand.

دُم لِمَن اِستَرشَدَ أَو أَقلَلا

أَعذَبَ مَورودٍ وَأَهدى مَنار

Advance it for whoever seeks guidance or sets forth:

the sweetest watering place, the surest beacon.

وَلا يَزَل مَجدُكَ تَفري ظُباه

وَجُرحُها عِندَ اللَيالي جُبار

May your glory's blades never cease to cleave it,

their wound against the nights beyond repair.