وَمُطَّرِدِand one constant المَوَدَّةِaffection لَيسَthere is no فيهاin it
وَمُطَّرِدِ المَوَدَّةِ لَيسَ فيها
إِذاwhen نَحنُwe اِعتَقَلناهاwe clasp it اِعوِجاجُcrookedness
إِذا نَحنُ اِعتَقَلناها اِعوِجاجُ
And one constant in affection, in which there is no
The unbroken affection has therein no
Crookedness when we clasp it;
Crookedness when we embrace it
يَعوجُturns بِهِwith him عَلىtoward الأَهوالِterrors عَزمٌresolve
يَعوجُ بِهِ عَلى الأَهوالِ عَزمٌ
يُضيءُshines لَهُfor him إِذاwhen اِعتَكَرَgrows murky العَجاجُswirling dust
يُضيءُ لَهُ إِذا اِعتَكَرَ العَجاجُ
Resolve turns him toward terrors,
A purpose leans awry against horrors
Shining for him when the dust-cloud grows murky.
Lighting his way when turmoil darkens
إِذاwhen هُوَhe أَطمَرَتburies يَدُهُhis hand حُساماa keen sword
إِذا هُوَ أَطمَرَت يَدُهُ حُساما
فَلَيسَthen there is no سِوىexcept الرِقابِnecks لَهُfor it نِتاجُyield
فَلَيسَ سِوى الرِقابِ لَهُ نِتاجُ
When his hand buries a keen sword,
If his hand once unsheathed a sword
Then its only yield is necks.
Necks alone for him have offspring
Sol 6.1