يا مَن لَهُ سَيفُ لَحظٍ

يا مَن لَهُ سَيفُ لَحظٍ

لَهُ بِقَلبي جِراحُ

لَهُ بِقَلبي جِراحُ

O you whose glance is a sword,

O you who wields the sword of a glance,

its wounds lie within my heart,

you who wounds my heart,

وَصَولَجانُ عِذارٍ

وَصَولَجانُ عِذارٍ

كُراتُهُ الأَرواحُ

كُراتُهُ الأَرواحُ

and whose cheek-down is a polo mallet,

and whose icy arrows of reproach

whose balls are souls:

are bullets that pierce souls -

لَولاَ تَهاديكَ أَهدي

لَولاَ تَهاديكَ أَهدي

صُلحاً إِلَيَّ الصَلاحُ

صُلحاً إِلَيَّ الصَلاحُ

But for your graceful sway, there would have been offered

if not for your gentle approach,

a truce to me by virtue.

I would not have found peace and comfort.