قدalready مَرِنتhave grown accustomed قلوبُنَاour hearts علىto النّوىseparation
قد مَرِنت قلوبُنَا على النّوى
فماso not تَشكّىcomplain منof أليمِpainful الوَجْدِlonging
فما تَشكّى من أليمِ الوَجْدِ
Our hearts have grown accustomed to separation,
Our hearts have become accustomed to ardor,
so they do not complain of the pain of longing.
So they make no moan over the pain of passion.
كأنّas though حُسنَbeauty of صَبْرِهَاtheir patience علىamid لَظَىthe blaze of
كأنّ حُسنَ صَبْرِهَا على لَظَى
أشواقِهاtheir longings حُسنُbeauty of اصطبارِsteadfast endurance of الزّندِthe firestick
أشواقِها حُسنُ اصطبارِ الزّندِ
It is as though their fine patience amid the blaze
As though the beauty of their patience towards agony
of their longings were the firestick's fine endurance.
Were the patience of steel towards flint's blows.
Sol 6.1