وَما شَجاني أَنَّني كُنتُ نائِماً

أُعَلَّلُ مِن فَرطِ الكَرى بِالتَنَسُّمِ

I rue not that slumber overcame me,

As I sigh heavily with cares oppressing,

إِلى أَن بَكَت وَرقاءُ في غُصنِ أَيكَةٍ

تُرَدِّدُ مَبكاها بِحُسنِ التَرَنُّمِ

Until a dove wept on an aik bough,

Repeating her moans in sweet mournfulness.

فَلَو قَبِلَ مَبكاها بَكَيتُ صَبابَةً

بِلَيلى شَفَيتُ النَفسَ قَبلَ التَنَدُّمِ

Had I heeded her moaning I had wept early,

Ere too late, for Layla filling my soul with her love.

وَلَكِن بَكَت قَبلي فَهاجَ لي البُكا

بُكاها فَقُلتُ الفَضل للمُتَقَدِّمِ

But she wept before I, so her weeping stirred mine;

Honor the first in the race! Precedence is hers!