وَإِنّي لَأَرضى مِنكِ يا لَيُ بِالَّذي

وَإِنّي لَأَرضى مِنكِ يا لَيُ بِالَّذي

لَوَ اَيقَنَهُ الواشي لَقَرَّت بَلابِلُه

لَوَ اَيقَنَهُ الواشي لَقَرَّت بَلابِلُه

And I am indeed content, O Lay, with what I receive from you—

For I am pleased, O nights, with what

If the tale-bearer knew it for certain, his anxieties would be stilled:

Were the watcher to realize it, his nightingales would fall silent,

بِلا وَبِأَن لا أَستَطيعُ وَبِالمُنى

بِلا وَبِأَن لا أَستَطيعُ وَبِالمُنى

وَبِالوَعدِ حَتّى يَسأَمَ الوَعدُ آمِلُه

وَبِالوَعدِ حَتّى يَسأَمَ الوَعدُ آمِلُه

With “no,” and with “I cannot,” and with hopes,

With neither the ability nor the means, and with the wish

And with a promise, until the one hoping for it grows weary of it;

Until the waiting tires the one who waits,

بِالنَظرَةِ العَجلى وَبِالحَولِ يَنقَضي

بِالنَظرَةِ العَجلى وَبِالحَولِ يَنقَضي

أَواخِرُهُ لا نَلتَقي وَأَوائِلُه

أَواخِرُهُ لا نَلتَقي وَأَوائِلُه

With a fleeting glance, and with a year passing away,

With the fleeting glance and the time that passes

Its last days and its first, without our meeting.

We do not meet at its end or its beginning.