فَإِن تَكتَسي يا دارُ تُرباً مِنَ الصِبا

فَإِن تَكتَسي يا دارُ تُرباً مِنَ الصِبا

فَلا تَلبَسي مِن أَدمُعي غَيرَ مُعلِمِ

فَلا تَلبَسي مِن أَدمُعي غَيرَ مُعلِمِ

So if, O dwelling, you clothe yourself in dust from the east wind,

If you are clothed in dust, O abode, from the youth

then wear, from my tears, nothing but a patterned robe.

Wear no dress but what my streaming tears assign.

مَتى تُكتَمُ الأَشواقُ ما بَينَ باسِمٍ

مَتى تُكتَمُ الأَشواقُ ما بَينَ باسِمٍ

نَمومٍ وَدَمعٍ بِالدِماءِ مُنَمنَمِ

نَمومٍ وَدَمعٍ بِالدِماءِ مُنَمنَمِ

When can longings be concealed between a smile

When can yearning be stifled between lover and loved,

that betrays them and tears embroidered with blood?

A mourning spirit, flowing tears ensanguined?