يا حَبّذا بِحَديقَةٍ دُولابُ

سَكَنَتْ إلى حَرَكَاتِهِ الألبَابُ

Oh what a blessing is the rotating garden

Where the mind settles into its motions

غَنّى وَلَمْ يَطْرَبْ وَسَقَّى وهو لم

يَشْرَبْ ومِنْهُ اللّحْنُ والأكْوَابُ

It sang without rapture and watered while not

Drinking itself, from it come tunes and cups

لَو يَدّعي لُطْف الهَواء أو الهَوى

ما كُنْتَ في تَصْديقِهِ تَرْتَابُ

If it claimed the gentleness of air or love

You would not doubt its claim

لِلْعُود محْتدُه وَمِلْءُ ضُلوعه

لإغاثَة الشّجَر اللّهيف رَبَابُ

The oud has its tuned strings and its ribs filled

To relieve the fragile, shaking branches

وكَأنّه مِمّا تَرَنّم مَاجِنٌ

وكأنّه ممّا بَكى أوّابُ

It's as if it echoes the humming of the drunk

And the cries of passionate lovers

وكَأنّه بِنُثَارهِ وَمَدارِه

فَلَكٌ كواكِبُهُ لَها أذنابُ

As if its strings and cycles

Are a cosmos, its stars with tails