جُرِحَت مُهجَتي أَسى

جُرِحَت مُهجَتي أَسى

ما عَلى الصَبرِ لَو أَسا

ما عَلى الصَبرِ لَو أَسا

My heart was wounded by sorrow.

My wounded heart is in distress

My soul is wounded by sorrow,

What would it cost patience to heal it?

Patience is no use, I confess

What harm to patience, were it to offer a cure?

أَحسَنَ الدَهرُ في الحَبي

أَحسَنَ الدَهرُ في الحَبي

بِ فَلَمّا اِنقَضى أَسا

بِ فَلَمّا اِنقَضى أَسا

Time was kind toward the beloved;

Fate was kind for a while

Fate was benevolent regarding the beloved,

then, when he was gone, it did ill.

But joy is fleeting, I revile

But when that passed, it turned to cruelty.