عَاجَتْ أَصِيلاً بِالرِّيَاضِ تَطُوفُهَا
كَمَلِيكَةٍ طَافَتْ مَعاهِدَ حُكْمِهَا
She strolled gracefully in the meadows,
Like a queen who toured the strongholds of her realm.
حَسْنَاءُ أَمَّرَهَا الجَمَالُ فَأَنْشَأَتْ
فِي أَيْكِهَا الأَطْيَارُ تَخْطبُ بِاسْمِهَا
A beauty, made more lovely by charm,
So the birds in her glades sing her name.
وَالحُسْنُ أَكْمَلُ مَا يَكُونُ شَبِيبَةٌ
فِي بَدْئِهَا وَمَلاحَةٌ فِي تِمِّهَا
Beauty is most perfect in a maiden
In the flower of youth, and the fullness of her prime.
سَتَرَتْ بِأَخْضَرَ سُنْدُسِي جِيدَهَا
فَحَكَي المُحَيَّا وَردةً فِي كِمِّهَا
She was veiled in green silken robes,
Revealing, in their folds, a rose on her bosom.
وَتَمَايَلَتْ فِي ثَوْبِ خَزٍّ مُورِقٍ
غُصْناً وَهَلِ لِلْغُصْنِ نَضْرَة جِسْمِهَا
She swayed in a gown of shimmering silk,
A branch whose body’s freshness cannot match its own.
فَإِذَا جَاوَرتْ فِي سَيْرِهَا مِنْ زَهْرَةٍ
هَمَّتْ بِأَخْذِ ذُيُولِهَا وَبِلَثْمِهَا
When she passed by a flower as she walked,
She would take its skirt and kiss it.
أَوْ جَاوَرَتْ فَرْعاً رَطِيباً لَيِّناً
أَلوَى بِمِعْطَفِهِ وَمَالَ لِضَمِّهَا
Or she would pass a soft, sweet branch,
Which bent its garment to embrace her.
وَتَحُفُّ أَبْصَارٌ بِهَا فَيَخِزْنَها
بِحَيَائِهَا وَيَشُكْنِهَا فِي وَهمِهَا
Eyes feast on her, then hide her away
In thoughts, too shy to openly profess their desire,
كَالنَّحْلِ طُفْنَ بِزَهْرَةٍ فَلَسَعْنَهَا
وَرَشَفْنَ مِنْهَا مَا رَشَفْنَ بِرغْمِها
Like bees that swarmed around a blossom, then stung it,
Sipping from it what they sipped against its will.
حَتَّى إِذَا حَلَّى العَيَاءُ جَبِينُهَا
بِنَدًى وَأَخْمَدَ جَمْرَةً مِنْ عَزْمِهَا
Until modesty cooled her heated brow
With dew, quenching the fires of her resolve,
جَلَسَتْ تُقَابِلُ أُمَّهَا وَكَأَنَّمَا
كِلْتَاهُمَا جَلَسَتْ قُبَالَةَ رسْمِهَا
She sat facing her mother, as though
The two images were of one portrait.
لَكِنَّ عَاصِفَةً أَغَارَتْ فَجْأَةً
بِالهُوجِ مِنْ لَدَدِ الرِّيَاحِ وَقُتْمهَا
When suddenly a tempest roared by,
In raging winds and murky clouds,
فَاهْتَزَّتِ الغَبْرَاءُ حَتَّى صَافَحَتْ
عَذَبَاتِ سَرْحَتِهَا مَنَابِتُ نَجْمِهَا
And the dusty haze shook, till it reached
The soft meadows, the stars’ rising place.
وَتَنَاثَرَتْ ضُفُرُ الفَتَاةِ غَمَائِماً
سَتَرَتْ عَنِ الأَبْصَارِ طَلْعَةَ نَجْمِهَا
The tresses of the maiden scattered, clouds
That veiled the rising of her star from sight.
فَتَحَيَّرَتْ فِيمَا تُحَاوِلُ وَهْيَ قَدْ
أَعْيَتْ بِلا مِرْآتِهَا عَنْ نَظْمِهَا
Perplexed she struggled, without her mirror,
To restore the braids the winds undid.
فَدَنَتْ تُحَاذِي أُمِّهَا وَتَنَاظَرَتْ
بِعُيُونِهَا وَجَلَتْ سَحَابَةَ هَمِّهَا
She drew near her mother, and peered
Into her eyes, dispelling the clouds of worry.
وَكَذَا الفَتَاةُ إِذَا ابْتَغَتْ مِرْآتَهَا
فَتَعَذَّرَتْ نَظَرَتْ بِعَيْنَيْ أُمِّهَا
For when a girl cannot find her mirror,
She looks into her mother’s eyes instead.
