مَشْهَدٌ سُيِّرَ فِي طَبْلٍ وَبُوقِ

عِظَةٌ جُنَّت فَغَنَّت فِي الطَّرِيقِ

A scene marched in drums and horns

A sermon preached and sang on the road

عِظَةُ المَوْتِ وَمَا عَهْدِي بِهَا

أَنْ تَزُفَّ النَّعشَ فِي تَدْلِيلِ سُوقِ

The sermon of death, though I'm not used to it

Marching the bier flamboyantly in the street

لاَ وَلاَ عَهْدِي بِهَا خَاطِبَة

عَنْ ثُغُورٍ مِنْ نُحَاسٍ وَحُلُوقِ

No, I'm not used to it wooing

With bells of brass and gilt ornaments

وَيْحَ تِلْكَ الْقِطَعِ الصَّفرَاءِ فِي

صَوْتِهَا حِسُّ جِرَاحٍ وَحُرُوقِ

Alas, those yellow pieces

Whose sound senses wounds and burns

مَنْ تُرَى عَلَّمَهَا مَا مَزَجَتْ

مِنْ وَجِيفٍ وَعَوِيلٍ وَنَعِيقِ

I wonder who taught it to mix

The stench, wailing, and howling

أَلْقَتِ الْفَجْعَةَ فَاسْتَولَتْ عَلَى

كُلِّ سَمْعٍ وَأَجَفَّت كُلَّ رِيقِ

It cast grief and overtook

Every hearing and dried every saliva

تَلْكَ شَكْوىَ عَنْ فُؤَادٍ ثَاكِلٍ

صَاخِبِ الآلاَمِ رَنَّانِ الخَفُوقِ

That's the complaint of a forlorn heart

The ringing, wounded passions

يَا أَباً يَبْكِي ابْنَهُ مُلْتَمِساً

ذَلِكَ التَّنبِيهَ لِلْحِسِّ الصَّعيقِ

Oh father, crying for his son, seeking

To awaken numb sensations

وَاضِحٌ عُذْرُكَ مَهْمَا تَفْتَنِنْ

لِلعَدُوّ الصُّلبِ وَالخِدْنِ الرَّفِيقِ

Your excuse is clear, no matter how you are tempted

By the solid enemy and the smooth slander

آهِ مِنْ نَارِ الْجَوَى فَهْيَ الَّتِي

تَفْجُرُ البُرْكَانَ مِنْ قَلْبِ رَقِيقِ

Oh, the fire of love is what

Erupts volcanoes from a gentle heart

آهِ مِنْ صَدْعِ النَّوَى فَهْوَ الَّذِي

يُرْسِلُ الأَحْزَانَ كَالسَّيْلِ الدَّفُوقِ

Oh, the cracking of passion is what

Sends sorrows flooding like a bursting dam

إِنْ تُذِيبُوا هَكَذَا أَكْبَادَنَا

يَا بَنِينَا فَالرَّدَى أَقْسَى الْعُقُوقِ

If you keep melting our livers like this

Our children, then estrangement is the cruelest betrayal