جَوىً تَتَلَظّى نارُهُ في جَوانِحي

جَوىً تَتَلَظّى نارُهُ في جَوانِحي

فَكَيفَ يَنامُ اللَيلَ حَرّانُ مُنضجُ

فَكَيفَ يَنامُ اللَيلَ حَرّانُ مُنضجُ

Love's anguish, its fire blazing within my ribs—

The embers of his passion flare in my heart,

A burning passion whose fire blazes within my ribs,

how can one parched and seared sleep through the night?

How can the impassioned one sleep at night when seared?

So how can one sleep at night who is feverish and consumed?

جَفاهُ الكَرى وَالطَيفُ قَد واصَلَ البُكا

جَفاهُ الكَرى وَالطَيفُ قَد واصَلَ البُكا

فَحَتّى مَتى يَبكي وَلا يَتَفَرَّجُ

فَحَتّى مَتى يَبكي وَلا يَتَفَرَّجُ

Sleep and the dream-phantom have forsaken him; he has kept on weeping.

Cruel fate has parted us,

Slumber has shunned him, and the phantom has joined in his weeping,

How long, then, must he weep without relief?

When will he stop weeping, with no respite?

For how long will he weep with no relief in sight?

جَرى القَدرُ الجاري عَلَيهِ بِفرقَةٍ

جَرى القَدرُ الجاري عَلَيهِ بِفرقَةٍ

فَلَيسَ لَهَ مِن داخِلِ الهَمِّ مَخرَجُ

فَلَيسَ لَهَ مِن داخِلِ الهَمِّ مَخرَجُ

Fate, running its course, has decreed separation for him;

Destiny decreed our separation,

The decree of fate has run its course upon him with separation,

so he has no escape from the depths of sorrow.

Leaving no escape from inner turmoil.

Leaving him no exit from the confines of his sorrow.

جَليد عَلى الكِتمانِ لَو لَم تَبُح بِهِ

جَليد عَلى الكِتمانِ لَو لَم تَبُح بِهِ

دُموعٌ عَلى خَدَّيهِ بِالدَمِ تُمزَجُ

دُموعٌ عَلى خَدَّيهِ بِالدَمِ تُمزَجُ

He would be steadfast in concealment, were he not betrayed by

He conceals it like frozen ice,

He remains steadfast in concealment, were he not betrayed

tears upon his cheeks, mingled with blood.

Were it not for tears mixed with blood on his cheeks.

By tears upon his cheeks that are mingled with blood.

جَعَلتُ أَمحي ما كَتَبتُ بِعَبرَتي

جَعَلتُ أَمحي ما كَتَبتُ بِعَبرَتي

وَكِدتُ لِسقمي في كِتابي أدرجُ

وَكِدتُ لِسقمي في كِتابي أدرجُ

I began erasing with my tears what I had written,

I erased what I wrote in tears,

I began to erase with my tears what I had written,

and from sickness I was almost folded into my letter

And nearly included my sickness in my book.

And I nearly, from my frailty, was folded into my letter.

جَواباً لَعَلَّ الكُتب يُطفئُ لاعِجاً

جَواباً لَعَلَّ الكُتب يُطفئُ لاعِجاً

عَلى كَبدٍ مِن ذِكرِكُم تَتَوَهَّجُ

عَلى كَبدٍ مِن ذِكرِكُم تَتَوَهَّجُ

as a reply, hoping correspondence might quench a searing flame

Perhaps books will quell intense yearning,

A reply—perhaps the writing might extinguish the burning pain

upon a liver ablaze with remembrance of you.

For a heart aflame with thoughts of you.

Upon a heart that glows like embers from the memory of you.

جَزى اللَهُ من أَدّى رِسالَة عاشِقٍ

جَزى اللَهُ من أَدّى رِسالَة عاشِقٍ

وَحَسَّنَ أعذاراً مِنَ البَينِ تَسمُجُ

وَحَسَّنَ أعذاراً مِنَ البَينِ تَسمُجُ

May God reward whoever delivers a lover's message

May God reward one who delivers a lover's message

May God reward the one who delivers a lover's message,

and makes fair the excuses that separation makes ugly,

And gracefully conveys excuses for separation.

And beautifies excuses that separation has made unsightly.

جَميلاً فَما فِعلُ الجَميلِ بَضائِع

جَميلاً فَما فِعلُ الجَميلِ بَضائِع

وَلا سيما في الصَبِّ وَالصَبّ أَحوَجُ

وَلا سيما في الصَبِّ وَالصَبّ أَحوَجُ

with goodness—for no good deed is wasted,

Beauty is good, but what can it do?

With goodness, for a good deed is never a wasted ware,

especially for the lovelorn, whose need is greater.

Especially for the young - it barely suffices.

Especially for the lovesick, who is in the direst need.

جَنَيتُ عَلى نَفسي الهَوى فَقَتَلتُها

جَنَيتُ عَلى نَفسي الهَوى فَقَتَلتُها

وَحُبّي بَريءٌ مِن دمي مُتَحَرِّجُ

وَحُبّي بَريءٌ مِن دمي مُتَحَرِّجُ

I inflicted passion on my own soul, and so killed it;

I killed myself with love,

I brought love upon my own soul and thus destroyed it,

and my love is innocent of my blood, shrinking from guilt.

My love is innocent of shedding my blood.

While my beloved remains innocent of my blood, free of guilt.

جَلاء هُمومي طَيفكُم يوضحُ الدُّجى

جَلاء هُمومي طَيفكُم يوضحُ الدُّجى

وَإِلّا فَأنفاسُ الصبا تَتَأَرَّجُ

وَإِلّا فَأنفاسُ الصبا تَتَأَرَّجُ

Your dream-phantom dispels my cares and lights the darkness;

Your image dispels my gloom,

The cure for my worries is your phantom illuminating the dark,

and if not, the breaths of the east wind waft their fragrance.

Else the morning breeze would stir restlessly.

Or else the breaths of the eastern breeze, wafting sweet perfume.