بِمنشَطِat the growing grounds of الشَّيحwormwood مِنin نجدٍNajd لناwe have وَطَنُa homeland
بِمنشَطِ الشَّيح مِن نجدٍ لنا وَطَنُ
لَمdid not تَجرِpass into speech ذِكراهُits mention إِلّاexcept that حَنَّyearned مُغتَرِبُan exile
لَم تَجرِ ذِكراهُ إِلّا حَنَّ مُغتَرِبُ
In Najd, where the wormwood thrives, we have a homeland;
No mention of it ever passed without an exile yearning.
إِذاwhen رأَىhe saw الأُفقَthe horizon بالظَّلماءِin darkness مُختَمِراveiled
إِذا رأَى الأُفقَ بالظَّلماءِ مُختَمِرا
أَمسىhe entered evening وَناظِرُهُand his eye بِالدَّمعِwith tears مُنتَقِبُveiled
أَمسى وَناظِرُهُ بِالدَّمعِ مُنتَقِبُ
When he saw the horizon shrouded in darkness,
Evening found him, his eye veiled in tears.
ونشقَةٍand many a fragrant breath مِنof عَرارٍ‘arar (a fragrant wildflower) هزَّstirred لِمَّتَهُits tresses
ونشقَةٍ مِن عَرارٍ هزَّ لِمَّتَهُ
رُوَيحَةٌa little breeze فيduring سُراهاits night journey مَسَّهاtouched it لَغَبُweariness
رُوَيحَةٌ في سُراها مَسَّها لَغَبُ
And many a breath of ‘arar, whose tresses were stirred
By a little breeze, weary on its journey through the night,
تشفيquenches غَليلاًa burning thirst بصَدريin my breast لاnot يُزَحزِحهُdislodges it
تشفي غَليلاً بصَدري لا يُزَحزِحهُ
دَمعٌtears تُهيبُurge on بِهِthem الأَشواقُlongings مُنسَكِبُstreaming
دَمعٌ تُهيبُ بِهِ الأَشواقُ مُنسَكِبُ
Quenches a burning thirst in my breast that cannot be eased
By streaming tears that longings urge to flow.
والنَّارُand fire بالماءِwith water تُطفَىis quenched فالهمومyet sorrows لهاfor them
والنَّارُ بالماءِ تُطفَى فالهموم لها
فيin القَلبِthe heart نارٌa fire بِماءِwith the water of العَينِthe eye تَلتَهِبُblazes
في القَلبِ نارٌ بِماءِ العَينِ تَلتَهِبُ
And fire is quenched with water; yet sorrows have
A fire within the heart that blazes with the eye's water.
فَقالَthen said صَحبيmy companions غداةَon the morning at الشِّعبِthe ravine منof حضَنٍHadan
فَقالَ صَحبي غداةَ الشِّعبِ من حضَنٍ
وَالخَدُّwhile the cheek يَهميpours عَلَيهِupon it واكِفٌa shower سَرِبُflowing freely
وَالخَدُّ يَهمي عَلَيهِ واكِفٌ سَرِبُ
Then my companions said, that morning in Hadan's ravine,
While a streaming shower poured down my cheek:
حتّامَhow long تَبكيwill you weep دماًblood والشَّيبُwhile gray hair مبتَسِمٌis smiling
حتّامَ تَبكي دماً والشَّيبُ مبتَسِمٌ
وَالعُمرُand life قَدalready أَخلَقَتْhave worn out أَثوابُهُits garments القُشُبُthe new ones
وَالعُمرُ قَد أَخلَقَتْ أَثوابُهُ القُشُبُ
“How long will you weep blood, while gray hair smiles
And life's once-new garments have already worn thin?”
فَماyet not ثَنَىblunted اللَّومُreproach مِنany of غَربيmy ardor وَذاand this عَمَهٌblind folly
فَما ثَنَى اللَّومُ مِن غَربي وَذا عَمَهٌ
ياO سَلمَSalm ماwhat أَناI بَعدَafter الشَّيبِgray hair وَالطَّرَبُand rapture
يا سَلمَ ما أَنا بَعدَ الشَّيبِ وَالطَّرَبُ
Yet reproach did not blunt my ardor—and this is blind folly.
O Salm, what have I to do with rapture after graying?
Translation model: Sol 6.1