يا مُهدِيَ الوَردِ الجَنِيِّ لَنا

يا مُهدِيَ الوَردِ الجَنِيِّ لَنا

جَرياً عَلى عاداتِهِ الأُوَلِ

جَرياً عَلى عاداتِهِ الأُوَلِ

O giver of freshly picked roses to us,

O guide of the rose bouquet for us

In keeping with his former customs:

Flowing in its old ways

إِنَّ الزَمانَ رَمى وَليَّكُمُ

إِنَّ الزَمانَ رَمى وَليَّكُمُ

في مُقلَتَيهِ بِحادِثٍ جَلَلِ

في مُقلَتَيهِ بِحادِثٍ جَلَلِ

Indeed, time has struck your friend

Time has cast its glance at your loved one

In both his eyes with a grievous calamity.

With a momentous event in its eyes

فَمَتى يُسَرُّ بِمَنظَرٍ حَسَنٍ

فَمَتى يُسَرُّ بِمَنظَرٍ حَسَنٍ

وَالحَظُّ عِندَ الحُسنِ لِلمُقلِ

وَالحَظُّ عِندَ الحُسنِ لِلمُقلِ

When, then, can he delight in a lovely sight,

So when will it be pleased with a good sight

While enjoyment of beauty belongs to the eyes?

As fortune favors beauty for the glance

أَهدَيتَها مِثلَ الخُدودِ خُدو

أَهدَيتَها مِثلَ الخُدودِ خُدو

دَ البيضِ قَد دَمِيَت مِنَ الخَجَلِ

دَ البيضِ قَد دَمِيَت مِنَ الخَجَلِ

You sent her like cheeks—the cheeks

You gifted it like blushing cheeks

Of fair women, blood-red with bashfulness.

Cheeks white as if tear-stained from shyness

حَسناءَ جاءَت مِن مَلابِسِها

حَسناءَ جاءَت مِن مَلابِسِها

مُختالَةً في أَحسَنِ الحُلَلِ

مُختالَةً في أَحسَنِ الحُلَلِ

A beauty, she emerged from her garments,

A beautiful woman came in her clothes

Walking proudly in the finest robes,

Strutting in the best apparel

في غَيرِ مَوسِمِها وَقَد ذَهَبَت

في غَيرِ مَوسِمِها وَقَد ذَهَبَت

أَيّامُها وَالدَهرُ ذو دُوَلِ

أَيّامُها وَالدَهرُ ذو دُوَلِ

Outside her season, when already gone

In a season not her own as her days went

Were her days—and time has its turns.

And time is fickle in its rounds

فَكَأَنَّها كانَت قَدِ اِنفَرَدَت

فَكَأَنَّها كانَت قَدِ اِنفَرَدَت

عَن جِنسِها تَمشي عَلى مَهَلِ

عَن جِنسِها تَمشي عَلى مَهَلِ

So it was as though she had set herself apart

As if she was alone, apart

From her kind, walking at her leisure.

From her kind, walking slowly

لَم أَحظَ مِنها وَهيَ حاضِرَةٌ

لَم أَحظَ مِنها وَهيَ حاضِرَةٌ

عِندي بِغَيرِ الشَمِّ وَالقُبَلِ

عِندي بِغَيرِ الشَمِّ وَالقُبَلِ

I had no pleasure from her, though she was present

I got from her, while she was present

With me, save smelling and kissing her.

Nothing but scent and kisses

فَعَرَفتُ عَرفَكَ مِن رَوائِحِها

فَعَرَفتُ عَرفَكَ مِن رَوائِحِها

وَفَهِمتُ مِنها حُسنَ رَأيِكَ لي

وَفَهِمتُ مِنها حُسنَ رَأيِكَ لي

So I recognized your fragrance from her scents,

So I knew your scent from her fragrance

And understood from her your kindly regard for me.

And understood from her your good taste for me

كَم مِن يَدٍ لَكَ لَستُ أُنكِرُها

كَم مِن يَدٍ لَكَ لَستُ أُنكِرُها

مَشكورَةٍ أَمثالُها قِبَلي

مَشكورَةٍ أَمثالُها قِبَلي

How many a favor of yours I do not deny,

How many gifts you have for me I won't deny

Whose like I cherish with gratitude—

Thanked the likes of which before me

عَذراءَ يَضعُفُ عَن تَحَمُّلِها

عَذراءَ يَضعُفُ عَن تَحَمُّلِها

شُكري كَما يَقوى بِها أَمَلي

شُكري كَما يَقوى بِها أَمَلي

A virgin favor, too great to be borne

A maiden whose appreciation outpaces

By my gratitude, even as my hope grows strong through it.

My thanks as she bolsters my hopes

أَذكَرتَني عَصرَ الشَبابِ بِها

أَذكَرتَني عَصرَ الشَبابِ بِها

وَمَواسِمَ الأَفراحِ وَالجَذَلِ

وَمَواسِمَ الأَفراحِ وَالجَذَلِ

Through her you reminded me of the days of youth,

You reminded me of youth's morn with her

And the seasons of rejoicing and delight:

And seasons of joy and coquetry

أَيّامَ لا أُرعي لِعاذِلَةٍ

أَيّامَ لا أُرعي لِعاذِلَةٍ

سَمعي وَلا أُصغي إِلى العَذَلِ

سَمعي وَلا أُصغي إِلى العَذَلِ

Days when I lent no reproachful woman

Days when I heed no reproachers

My ear, nor listened to rebuke.

Nor listen to blame

فَاليَومَ عودُ الدَهرِ مُحتَطَبٌ

فَاليَومَ عودُ الدَهرِ مُحتَطَبٌ

ذاوٍ وَشَمسُ العُمرِ في الطَفَلِ

ذاوٍ وَشَمسُ العُمرِ في الطَفَلِ

But today time's bough is cut for firewood,

So today the wheel of fate is firewood

Withered, and life's sun is at dusk.

Lost, and the sun of life in its sunset

لَم يَبقَ لي في لَذَّةٍ أَرَبٌ

لَم يَبقَ لي في لَذَّةٍ أَرَبٌ

أَنا مِن زِحامِ الهَمِّ في شُغُلِ

أَنا مِن زِحامِ الهَمِّ في شُغُلِ

No desire for pleasure remains in me;

No pleasure remains for me in enjoyment

I am taken up with the press of cares.

I am busy with crowds and cares

أَبكي عَلى الدُنيا وَبَهجَتِها

أَبكي عَلى الدُنيا وَبَهجَتِها

وَعَلى اِقتِرابِ مَسافَةِ الأَجَلِ

وَعَلى اِقتِرابِ مَسافَةِ الأَجَلِ

I weep for the world and its splendor,

I cry over this life and its joys

And for the narrowing distance to my appointed end.

And the nearing of my death's distance

فَاِسحَب ذُيولَ سَعادَةٍ فُضُلا

فَاِسحَب ذُيولَ سَعادَةٍ فُضُلا

في ظِلِّ عَيشٍ ناعِمٍ خَضِلِ

في ظِلِّ عَيشٍ ناعِمٍ خَضِلِ

So trail the ample skirts of happiness

So pull the train of happiness my excess

In the shade of a life of ease, fresh with dew.

In the shade of a soft, green life