غَنِّني أُنْشودَةَ الفَجْرِ الضَّحُوكْ

غَنِّني أُنْشودَةَ الفَجْرِ الضَّحُوكْ

أَيُّها الصَّدَّاحْ

أَيُّها الصَّدَّاحْ

Sing me the song of the laughing dawn,

Sing to me the blithe song of dawn,

Sing to me the anthem of the laughing dawn,

O songster!

O warbler,

O warbling bird,

فَلَقَدْ جَرَّعَني صَوْتُ الظَّلامْ

فَلَقَدْ جَرَّعَني صَوْتُ الظَّلامْ

أَلَماً علَّمَنِي كُرْهَ الحَياةْ

أَلَماً علَّمَنِي كُرْهَ الحَياةْ

For the voice of darkness has made me drink

For the voice of darkness has made me drink

For the voice of darkness has made me drink deep

a pain that taught me to hate life.

Pain that taught me to hate life.

A pain that taught me to loathe this life,

إنَّ قَلْبِي مَلَّ أَصْداءَ النُّوَاحْ

إنَّ قَلْبِي مَلَّ أَصْداءَ النُّوَاحْ

غَنِّنِي يَا صَاحْ

غَنِّنِي يَا صَاحْ

Indeed, my heart has wearied of the echoes of lamentation.

My heart is weary of laments' echoes;

My heart has grown weary of wailing’s echoes,

Sing to me, O friend.

Sing to me, O chanter.

Sing to me, my friend,

حَطَّمَتْ كَفُّ الأَسَى قِيثارَتي

حَطَّمَتْ كَفُّ الأَسَى قِيثارَتي

فِي يَدِ الأَحْلامْ

فِي يَدِ الأَحْلامْ

The hand of sorrow shattered my lyre

The hand of sorrow shattered my lyre

The hand of sorrow has shattered my lyre,

in the hand of dreams.

In the grip of dreams,

Within the grasp of dreams,

فَقَضَتْ صمْتاً أَناشيدُ الغَرامْ

فَقَضَتْ صمْتاً أَناشيدُ الغَرامْ

بَيْنَ أَزْهارِ الخَريفِ الذَّاوِيَهْ

بَيْنَ أَزْهارِ الخَريفِ الذَّاوِيَهْ

So the songs of love died in silence

So the songs of passion fell silent

And the hymns of love perished in silence,

among autumn's withering flowers,

Among the withering autumn flowers.

Amidst the withering flowers of autumn,

وتَلاشَتْ في سُكُونِ الإكْتِئَابْ

وتَلاشَتْ في سُكُونِ الإكْتِئَابْ

كَصَدَى الغِرِّيدْ

كَصَدَى الغِرِّيدْ

and vanished in the stillness of melancholy,

They faded into the stillness of melancholy

And vanished into the stillness of despair,

like the echo of a songbird.

Like the echo of twittering.

Like a warbler’s fading echo.

كُفَّ عَنْ تِلْكَ الأَغاني البَاسِمَهْ

كُفَّ عَنْ تِلْكَ الأَغاني البَاسِمَهْ

أَيُّها العُصْفُورْ

أَيُّها العُصْفُورْ

Cease those smiling songs,

Stop those smiling songs,

Cease those songs that smile so bright,

O sparrow!

O little bird,

O little bird,

فَحَيَاتي أَلِفَتْ لَحْنَ الأَسَى

فَحَيَاتي أَلِفَتْ لَحْنَ الأَسَى

مِنْ زَمَانٍ قدْ تَقَضَّى وعَسَى

مِنْ زَمَانٍ قدْ تَقَضَّى وعَسَى

For my life has grown used to sorrow's melody

For my life has long attuned itself

For my life has grown used to sorrow’s tune,

since a time long past; and perhaps

To the melody of grief,

Since a time long past—and perhaps,

أَنْ يُثِيرَ الشَّدْوُ في صَمْتِ الفُؤَادْ

أَنْ يُثِيرَ الشَّدْوُ في صَمْتِ الفُؤَادْ

أَنَّةَ الأَوْتَارْ

أَنَّةَ الأَوْتَارْ

singing will stir, in the silence of the heart,

From an era now past, though passion

Your song might stir, within the heart’s silence,

the moan of the strings.

May yet stir muted strings

The moaning of the strings.

لا تُغَنِّينِي أَغَاريدَ الصَّبَاحْ

لا تُغَنِّينِي أَغَاريدَ الصَّبَاحْ

بُلْبُلَ الأَفْراحْ

بُلْبُلَ الأَفْراحْ

Do not sing me the trills of morning,

To sing again.

Do not sing to me the carols of the morning,

O nightingale of joys!

Do not sing me morning's happy trills,

O nightingale of joy,

فَفُؤادِي وهوَ مَغْمُورُ الجِرَاحْ

فَفُؤادِي وهوَ مَغْمُورُ الجِرَاحْ

بتَبَارِيحِ الحَيَاةِ البَاكِيَهْ

بتَبَارِيحِ الحَيَاةِ البَاكِيَهْ

For my heart, its wounds overwhelmed

Bulbul of joys,

For my heart, submerged in its wounds,

by the torments of weeping life,

For my heart, immersed in wounds,

And the agonies of a weeping life,

لَيْسَ تَسْتَهْويهِ أَلْحَانُ السُّرُورْ

لَيْسَ تَسْتَهْويهِ أَلْحَانُ السُّرُورْ

وأَغَاني النُّورْ

وأَغَاني النُّورْ

is not beguiled by the melodies of joy

Is wearied by life's tribulations.

Is not swayed by melodies of mirth,

or the songs of light.

It desires not the tunes of joy

Nor by the songs of light.

إنَّ مَنْ أَصْغَى إلى صَوْتِ المَنُونْ

إنَّ مَنْ أَصْغَى إلى صَوْتِ المَنُونْ

وصَدَى الأَجْداثْ

وصَدَى الأَجْداثْ

Indeed, whoever has listened to the voice of death

And songs of light.

For he who has listened to the voice of doom,

and the echo of graves

For one who has heard the voice of the pallbearer

And the echo of the graves,

لَيْسَ تَسْتَهْويهِ أَلْحانُ الطُّيُورْ

لَيْسَ تَسْتَهْويهِ أَلْحانُ الطُّيُورْ

بَيْنَ أَزْهارِ الرَّبيعِ السَّاحِرَهْ

بَيْنَ أَزْهارِ الرَّبيعِ السَّاحِرَهْ

is not beguiled by the melodies of birds

And the echo of biers,

Is not moved by the melodies of birds,

among spring's enchanting flowers

The tunes of birds do not entice

Amidst the enchanting blooms of spring,

وِابْتِسامَاتِ الحَيَاةِ السَّافِرَهْ

وِابْتِسامَاتِ الحَيَاةِ السَّافِرَهْ

عَنْ جَلاَلِ اللهْ

عَنْ جَلاَلِ اللهْ

and life's smiles that unveil

Among the charming spring blooms

And the unveiled smiles of life,

the majesty of God.

And smiling faces of fleeting life,

Revealing the majesty of God.

غَنِّنِي يا صاحِ أَنَّاتِ الجَحِيمْ

غَنِّنِي يا صاحِ أَنَّاتِ الجَحِيمْ

واسْقِنِي الآلامْ

واسْقِنِي الآلامْ

Sing me, O friend, the groans of hell,

Distracted from the majesty of Allah.

Sing to me, O friend, the groans of hell,

and give me pain to drink.

Sing to me, O chanter, the strains of Hell,

And pour me a draft of pain,

أَتْرِعِ الكَأْسَ بأَوْجَاعِ الهُمُومْ

أَتْرِعِ الكَأْسَ بأَوْجَاعِ الهُمُومْ

واسْقِنِي إنِّي كَرِهْتُ الابْتِسَامْ

واسْقِنِي إنِّي كَرِهْتُ الابْتِسَامْ

Fill the cup to the brim with the pains of cares,

And serve me anguish.

Fill the cup to the brim with aching cares,

and give me drink: I have come to hate smiling.

Fill the cup with worries' pains

And let me drink, for I have come to loathe a smile.

غَنِّنِي نَدْبَ الأَمَانِي الخَائِبَهْ

غَنِّنِي نَدْبَ الأَمَانِي الخَائِبَهْ

واللَّيالِي السُّودْ

واللَّيالِي السُّودْ

Sing me the lament for disappointed hopes

And give me drink, for I've come to hate smiles.

Sing to me the dirge of shattered hopes,

and the black nights.

Sing to me the elegy of failed wishes

And of the pitch-black nights,

غَنِّنِي صَوْتَ الظَّلامِ المُكْتَئِبْ

غَنِّنِي صَوْتَ الظَّلامِ المُكْتَئِبْ

إنَّنِي أَهْواهْ

إنَّنِي أَهْواهْ

Sing me the voice of despondent darkness:

And the black nights.

Sing to me the voice of melancholic dark,

indeed, I love it.

Sing to me the melancholy darkness;

For that is what I crave.

هَاكَ كَأْسَ القَلْبِ فَامْلأْهَا نُوَاحْ

هَاكَ كَأْسَ القَلْبِ فَامْلأْهَا نُوَاحْ

واسْكُبِ الحُزْنَ بِها حتَّى الصَّبَاحْ

واسْكُبِ الحُزْنَ بِها حتَّى الصَّبَاحْ

Here, take the heart's cup; then fill it with lamentation,

It's what I crave.

Here is the heart’s cup, so fill it with wailing,

and pour sorrow into it until morning.

And pour in sorrow until dawn,

And pour sorrow into it until the dawn.

إنَّها من طِينَةِ الحُزْنِ المَرِيرْ

إنَّها من طِينَةِ الحُزْنِ المَرِيرْ

صَاغَهَا الخَلاّقْ

صَاغَهَا الخَلاّقْ

It is from the clay of bitter sorrow

For it was molded from bitter grief

For it was fashioned from the clay of bitter grief,

that the Creator fashioned it.

By the Creator.

Shaped by the Creator’s hand.

بِئْسَتِ الأَفْراحُ أَفْراحُ الحَيَاهْ

بِئْسَتِ الأَفْراحُ أَفْراحُ الحَيَاهْ

إنَّها أَحْلاَمْ

إنَّها أَحْلاَمْ

Wretched are the joys—the joys of life!

How wretched are life's joys -

Wretched are the joys, the joys of this life,

They are but dreams

Mere dreams

They are but fleeting dreams,

تَخْلُبُ اللُّبَّ بأَلْحانٍ عِذابْ

تَخْلُبُ اللُّبَّ بأَلْحانٍ عِذابْ

وأَغَارِيدَ كأَمْلاكِ السَّمَا

وأَغَارِيدَ كأَمْلاكِ السَّمَا

that bewitch the mind with sweet melodies

That steal the heart with tunes of torment

That captivate the soul with sweet melodies,

and trills like the angels of heaven,

And songs like angels of the sky,

And songs like the angels of the sky,

ثُمَّ لا تَلْبَثُ أَنْ تَذْوي كَمَا

ثُمَّ لا تَلْبَثُ أَنْ تَذْوي كَمَا

تَذْبُلُ الأَزْهارْ

تَذْبُلُ الأَزْهارْ

then soon wither, just as

Then soon melt away

Yet soon they wither away, just as

flowers fade.

Like fading blooms.

The flowers fade and die.

خبِّريني مَا الَّذي خَلْفَ الغُيُومْ

خبِّريني مَا الَّذي خَلْفَ الغُيُومْ

رَبَّةَ الأَحْلامْ

رَبَّةَ الأَحْلامْ

Tell me what lies behind the clouds,

Tell me, goddess of dreams,

Tell me, what lies behind the clouds,

O mistress of dreams:

What lies behind the clouds?

O Mistress of Dreams?

أَفَتَى الهَوْلِ وجَبَّارُ الهُمُومْ

أَفَتَى الهَوْلِ وجَبَّارُ الهُمُومْ

أَمْ عَرُوسُ الأَمَلِ العَذْبِ الشَّرُودْ

أَمْ عَرُوسُ الأَمَلِ العَذْبِ الشَّرُودْ

is it the youth of terror and the tyrant of cares,

Has the awful fate and tyrant of worries passed

Is it the youth of terror and the tyrant of cares?

or the bride of sweet, elusive hope,

Or does the softly wandering bride of hope

Or the bride of sweet, elusive hope,

تَتَهادَى بَيْنَ لأْلاءِ الصَّبَاحْ

تَتَهادَى بَيْنَ لأْلاءِ الصَّبَاحْ

كَمَلاَك النُّورْ

كَمَلاَك النُّورْ

gliding amid the morning's radiance,

Glide between the pearls of dawn

Swaying amidst the shimmer of the morn,

like an angel of light?

Like an angel of light?

Like an angel of light?

أَنَا في دَرْبِ الحَياةِ الغَامِضَهْ

أَنَا في دَرْبِ الحَياةِ الغَامِضَهْ

تَائِهٌ حَيْرَانْ

تَائِهٌ حَيْرَانْ

I am on the path of mysterious life,

I wander confused in life's murky path

Upon the path of this mysterious life,

lost and bewildered.

While in the face of life I glimpse

I wander, lost and confused,

بَيْنَما أُبْصِرُ في وَجْهِ الحَيَاةْ

بَيْنَما أُبْصِرُ في وَجْهِ الحَيَاةْ

ظُلْمَةَ الأَحْزانِ في ظِلِّ الأَلَمْ

ظُلْمَةَ الأَحْزانِ في ظِلِّ الأَلَمْ

While I see in life's face

The darkness of sorrows in the shade of pain,

While I gaze into the face of existence,

the darkness of sorrows in the shadow of pain,

As I see in its eyelid a lovely,

Seeing the darkness of sorrow in the shadow of pain,

إذْ أَرَى في جَفْنِها نُوراً بَديعْ

إذْ أَرَى في جَفْنِها نُوراً بَديعْ

بَاسِماً فَتَّانْ

بَاسِماً فَتَّانْ

suddenly I see in her eyelid a wondrous light,

Radiant light.

I glimpse within her eye a wondrous light,

smiling and enchanting.

Hark! In the heart of life I hear

Smiling and enchanting.

هَا أَنا أَسمَعُ في قَلْبِ الحِيِاةْ

هَا أَنا أَسمَعُ في قَلْبِ الحِيِاةْ

صَيْحَةَ الآلامْ

صَيْحَةَ الآلامْ

Here I am, hearing in life's heart

The cry of agony

Behold, I hear within the heart of life

the cry of pains,

Now flowing from a shattered heart

The outcry of pain,

مُرَّةً تَنْسابُ مِنْ قَلْبٍ حَطيمْ

مُرَّةً تَنْسابُ مِنْ قَلْبٍ حَطيمْ

مَلأَ الحُزْنُ أَقَاصِيهِ دُمُوعْ

مَلأَ الحُزْنُ أَقَاصِيهِ دُمُوعْ

bitter, flowing from a shattered heart

Filled to the brim with tearful woes.

Bitterly flowing from a shattered heart,

whose farthest reaches sorrow has filled with tears.

Hark! I hear the sounds of joy

Whose depths grief has filled with tears.

هَا أَنا أسْمَعُ أَصْواتَ السُّرُورْ

هَا أَنا أسْمَعُ أَصْواتَ السُّرُورْ

كَضَّتِ الأَيَّامْ

كَضَّتِ الأَيَّامْ

Here I am, hearing the voices of joy

Like the passing days.

Behold, I hear the voices of joy,

that have filled the days.

Which the days have crushed.