مُكَوّرُhe who coils اللَّيْلِthe night مِنْfrom دَيْجُورِthe pitch darkness طُرَّتِهِof his forelock
مُكَوّرُ اللَّيْلِ مِنْ دَيْجُورِ طُرَّتِهِ
مَنْhe who أطْلَعَbrought forth الصُّبْحَdawn مِنْfrom لألاءِthe radiance غُرَّتِهِof his brow
مَنْ أطْلَعَ الصُّبْحَ مِنْ لألاءِ غُرَّتِهِ
He who coils the night from the darkness of his forelock
is he who brought forth dawn from the radiance of his brow.
وَمُودِعُand he who lodges السِّحْرِenchantment فيin جفنيْهِhis eyelids قَدْindeed ظَهَرَتْhave appeared
وَمُودِعُ السِّحْرِ في جفنيْهِ قَدْ ظَهَرَتْ
آيَاتُsigns إعْجَازِهِof his miraculous power فِيin حُسْنِthe beauty صُورَتِهِof his form
آيَاتُ إعْجَازِهِ فِي حُسْنِ صُورَتِهِ
And he who lodged enchantment in his eyelids—there have appeared
signs of his miraculous power in the beauty of his form.
وَمَازِجُand he who blends الشَّهْدِhoney وَالصَّهْبَاءِand red wine رِيقَتَهُhis saliva
وَمَازِجُ الشَّهْدِ وَالصَّهْبَاءِ رِيقَتَهُ
قَدْindeed أنْبَتَmade bloom الوَرْدَroses فِيin نيرَانِthe fires وَجْنَتِهِof his cheek
قَدْ أنْبَتَ الوَرْدَ فِي نيرَانِ وَجْنَتِهِ
And he who blended honey and red wine into his saliva
has made roses bloom in the fires of his cheek.
وَمُطْلِعُand he who brings forth الشَّمْسِthe sun فِيin لَيْلِthe night غَدَائِرِهِof his tresses
وَمُطْلِعُ الشَّمْسِ فِي لَيْلِ غَدَائِرِهِ
قَدْindeed كُمِّلَwas perfected الحسنُbeauty فيin تكوينِthe shaping خِلْقَتِهِof his form
قَدْ كُمِّلَ الحسنُ في تكوينِ خِلْقَتِهِ
And he who brings forth the sun in the night of his tresses—
beauty has been perfected in the shaping of his form.
ظبيٌa gazelle لَهُhe has مقلةٌan eye تَجْلُوthat shines وَلاَand no عَجَبٌwonder
ظبيٌ لَهُ مقلةٌ تَجْلُو وَلاَ عَجَبٌ
أنْthat صَيَّرَhe made الأسْدَthe lions صَرْعَىfallen slain عِنْدَat لَفْتَتِهِhis turning glance
أنْ صَيَّرَ الأسْدَ صَرْعَى عِنْدَ لَفْتَتِهِ
A gazelle whose eye shines—and no wonder
that he has left lions slain at a turn of his head.
أحْبِبْhow lovable بِهِhe is شَادِنًاas a fawn قدْalready سَلَّhas unsheathed نَاظرَهhis eye
أحْبِبْ بِهِ شَادِنًا قدْ سَلَّ نَاظرَه
سَيْفاًas a sword حَمَىthat guarded وردَthe roses خَدَّيْهِof his cheeks بِشَوْكتِهِwith its point
سَيْفاً حَمَى وردَ خَدَّيْهِ بِشَوْكتِهِ
How lovable he is, a fawn who has unsheathed his gaze
as a sword, guarding the roses of his cheeks with its point.
إنْif ضَلَّلَled astray القَلْبَthe heart دَاجِيthe darkness شَعْرِهِof his hair فَلَكَمْthen how often
إنْ ضَلَّلَ القَلْبَ دَاجِي شَعْرِهِ فَلَكَمْ
أهْدَىbestowed الهَوَىlove لعُيُونِيupon my eyes بدرُthe full moon طَلْعَتِهِof his face
أهْدَى الهَوَى لعُيُونِي بدرُ طَلْعَتِهِ
If the darkness of his hair has led the heart astray, how often
has the full moon of his face bestowed love upon my eyes!
أوْor حَيَّرَbewildered الشُّعَرَاthe poets نَمْلُthe ants العِذَارِof his cheek-down فَقَدْthen indeed
أوْ حَيَّرَ الشُّعَرَا نَمْلُ العِذَارِ فَقَدْ
حَارَwas baffled ابنُIbn (son of) مُقْلَةَMuqlah فيby صَادٍthe letter ṣād لِمُقْلَتِهِof his eye
حَارَ ابنُ مُقْلَةَ في صَادٍ لِمُقْلَتِهِ
Or if the ants of his cheek-down bewildered the poets, indeed
Ibn Muqlah was baffled by the ṣād of his eye.
مليكُa king حسنٍof beauty رخيمُgentle الدَّلّin coquetry ذُوpossessing هَيَفٍa slender waist
مليكُ حسنٍ رخيمُ الدَّلّ ذُو هَيَفٍ
مَاnothing شَانَmarred قَلْبِيmy heart سِوَىexcept ذُّلِّيmy abasement لِعِزَّتِهِbefore his pride
مَا شَانَ قَلْبِي سِوَى ذُّلِّي لِعِزَّتِهِ
A king of beauty, gentle in coquetry, slender of waist—
nothing has marred my heart but my abasement before his pride.
وَيْلآهُalas for me! مِنْfrom سَقْمِthe languor عَيْنَيْهِof his eyes الَّتِيwhich غَزَلَتْspun
وَيْلآهُ مِنْ سَقْمِ عَيْنَيْهِ الَّتِي غَزَلَتْ
ثِيَابَgarments سُقْمِof sickness فُؤَادِيof my heart بَعْدَafter صِحَّتِهِits health
ثِيَابَ سُقْمِ فُؤَادِي بَعْدَ صِحَّتِهِ
Alas for the languor of his eyes, which have spun
garments of sickness for my once-healthy heart.
قَدْindeed أرْسَلَhe sent الصُّدْغَthe temple-lock يَدْعُوsummoning العَاشِقِينَthe lovers إلَىto
قَدْ أرْسَلَ الصُّدْغَ يَدْعُو العَاشِقِينَ إلَى
هَارُوتِHarut أجْفَانِهِof his eyelids فِيin وَقْتِthe hour فَتْرَتِهِof his languor
هَارُوتِ أجْفَانِهِ فِي وَقْتِ فَتْرَتِهِ
He has sent his temple-lock, calling lovers to
the Harut of his eyelids at the hour of his languor.
أفْدِيهِI would ransom him مِنْas one ثَمِلِdrunken الأعْطَافِof limb مَائِسِهَاswaying in them
أفْدِيهِ مِنْ ثَمِلِ الأعْطَافِ مَائِسِهَا
كَالغُصْنِlike a bough فِيin نَشَوَاتٍraptures عِنْدَin حضرتِهِhis presence
كَالغُصْنِ فِي نَشَوَاتٍ عِنْدَ حضرتِهِ
I would ransom him, with his drunken, swaying limbs,
like a bough in raptures in his presence.
وَامَيْلَoh, the leaning أعْطَافِof the limbs مُضْنَاهُof the one he has wasted لِمَعْطِفِهِtoward his waist
وَامَيْلَ أعْطَافِ مُضْنَاهُ لِمَعْطِفِهِ
شَوْقاًin longing وَوَاand oh ظَمَأthe thirst الأحْشَاof the heart's depths لِرِيقَتِهِfor his saliva
شَوْقاً وَوَا ظَمَأ الأحْشَا لِرِيقَتِهِ
Oh, how his wasted lover's limbs incline toward his waist
in longing! And oh, the heart's thirst for his saliva!
لاَnot أخْتَشِيI fear فِيهِconcerning him مِنْfrom عَذْلٍcensure يُفَنِّدُنِيthat deems me foolish
لاَ أخْتَشِي فِيهِ مِنْ عَذْلٍ يُفَنِّدُنِي
وَالشَّوْقُand longing يَقْتَادُleads قَلْبِيmy heart فِيthrough أزِقَّتِهِhis alleyways
وَالشَّوْقُ يَقْتَادُ قَلْبِي فِي أزِقَّتِهِ
In loving him, I fear no censure that calls me foolish,
while longing leads my heart through his alleyways.
مَاnot يَقْبُحُis ugly العَذْلُreproach إلاَّexcept فِيin هَوَاهُlove for him وَمَاand not
مَا يَقْبُحُ العَذْلُ إلاَّ فِي هَوَاهُ وَمَا
يَحْلُوis sweet التَّهَتُّكُshameless abandon إلاَّexcept فِيin مَحَبَّتِهِloving him
يَحْلُو التَّهَتُّكُ إلاَّ فِي مَحَبَّتِهِ
Reproach is ugly only in love for him, and
shameless abandon is sweet only in loving him.
Sol 6.1