أتاركُare you leaving قلبيmy heart فيin لَظَىthe blaze of الوَجْدِlonging مَجْمَرَاa censer
أتاركُ قلبي في لَظَى الوَجْدِ مَجْمَرَا
وطِيبَand the fragrance of ثَناءٍpraise فوقهabove it فَاحwafted عَنْبَرَاambergris
وطِيبَ ثَناءٍ فوقه فَاح عَنْبَرَا
Are you leaving my heart as a censer in the blaze of longing,
My heart I leave aflame with love and longing
while the fragrance of praise wafts above it as ambergris?
And sweetest praise for you pours forth like ambergris
ترفَّقْbe gentle فماfor ... not ابْيَضَّتْturned white دموعِيmy tears بعدَكُمْafter you (plural)
ترفَّقْ فما ابْيَضَّتْ دموعِي بعدَكُمْ
ولكنَّهاbut they شَابَتْgrew gray with age وصبرِيand my patience تعَذَّرَاproved impossible
ولكنَّها شَابَتْ وصبرِي تعَذَّرَا
Be gentle, for my tears have not turned white since you left;
Be gentle - since you left, my tears are yet unshed
but they have grown gray, and my patience has failed.
Though my patience is tried and my hair turned grey
فيَوْمِيso my day كأيَّامِlike the days of القيامةِResurrection طُولُهits length
فيَوْمِي كأيَّامِ القيامةِ طُولُه
وأرْضِيَand my land أمْسَتْhas become لْلأعادِيfor enemies مَحْشَرَاa gathering place
وأرْضِيَ أمْسَتْ لْلأعادِي مَحْشَرَا
So my day is as long as the days of Resurrection,
My days are long as Judgement Day since we parted
and my land has become a gathering place for enemies.
My land has become a battlefield for my foes
وغُصْنand a branch قَوامٍof stature كلُّevery غُصْنٍbranch لحُسْنِهbecause of its beauty
وغُصْن قَوامٍ كلُّ غُصْنٍ لحُسْنِه
بأوْراقِهwith its leaves منfrom خَجْلةٍshame قدindeed تَسَتَّراveiled itself
بأوْراقِه من خَجْلةٍ قد تَسَتَّرا
And a branchlike figure—before its beauty, every branch
Each bough of the sandalwood, so lovely before
has veiled itself with its leaves in shame.
Now hides in shame beneath its leaves, true and tender
وعَيْنand an eye لهbelonging to him قدindeed أهْدَتِbestowed السُّقْمَsickness والهوَىand passion
وعَيْن له قد أهْدَتِ السُّقْمَ والهوَى
فأهْدَىso bestowed إلىupon أجْفانِهاits eyelids طَرْفِيَmy eye الْكَرَىslumber
فأهْدَى إلى أجْفانِها طَرْفِيَ الْكَرَى
And an eye of his has bestowed sickness and passion,
That eye whose sickness and whose love I shared
so my eye bestowed slumber upon its lids.
Now turns from me, and tears my heart with sorrow
إذاwhen طَرَّزَembroidered القِرْطاسَthe paper وَشْيُthe tracery of بنَانِهِhis fingertips
إذا طَرَّزَ القِرْطاسَ وَشْيُ بنَانِهِ
تعَشَّقfell in love with منهfrom it الطَّرْفُthe eye خَدّاًa cheek مُعَذَّرَاfringed with down
تعَشَّق منه الطَّرْفُ خَدّاً مُعَذَّرَا
When his fingertips' tracery embroiders the page,
When the writer adorns the page with his artistry
the eye falls in love with a down-fringed cheek in it.
The eye falls in love with his cheek, so touching
وماand ... not كانwas لَوْنُthe color of التِّبْرِuncoined gold أصْفَرَyellow إنَّماonly
وما كان لَوْنُ التِّبْرِ أصْفَرَ إنَّما
لِخَوْفfor fear of نَداهُhis bounty بالنَّدَىwith dew صارbecame أصْفَرَاyellow
لِخَوْف نَداهُ بالنَّدَى صار أصْفَرَا
And gold's color was not yellow; it was only
If camphor seems pale, it's but from fear
for fear of his bounty that it turned yellow, wet with dew.
Its radiance is subdued by the dew that wets it
Sol 6.1