سِر قَليلاً وَلا تَلُمني خَليلي

لِوَداعِ الرَبابِ قَبلَ الرَحيلِ

Be patient with me a little, my friend,

At bidding farewell to the lute before parting.

إِنَّ في النَفسِ حاجَةً ما تَقَضّى

ما دَعا في الغُصونِ داعي هَديلٍ

For in the soul there is a need that is not fulfilled

By what the rustling branches summon in the gloaming.

إِنَّ طَرفي دَلَّ الفُؤادَ عَلَيها

فَفُؤادي كَالهائِمِ المَقتولِ

My eyes have guided my heart to it,

So my heart is like one slain, wandering astray.