عَجِبتُI marveled وَلَكِنbut مِنat مَلامَةِthe blame of لُوَّميmy reproachers
عَجِبتُ وَلَكِن مِن مَلامَةِ لُوَّمي
سَفاهاًfoolishly عَلىfor حُبِّlove of العِذارِthe cheek-down المُنَمنَمِfinely patterned
سَفاهاً عَلى حُبِّ العِذارِ المُنَمنَمِ
I marveled—but at my reproachers' blame,
so foolish, for my love of finely patterned cheek-down.
وَلاand no خَيرَgood فيin رَوضٍa garden إِذاif كانَit is مُمحِلاًbarren
وَلا خَيرَ في رَوضٍ إِذا كانَ مُمحِلاً
وَلاnor كاغِدٍpaper بِالخَطِّwith script غَيرَnot مُوَشَّمِtattooed
وَلا كاغِدٍ بِالخَطِّ غَيرَ مُوَشَّمِ
And there is no good in a garden if it is barren,
nor in paper not tattooed with script.
وَفيand on الخَدِّthe cheek خالٌa mole خالَهُthought it القَلبُthe heart إِذwhen بَداit appeared
وَفي الخَدِّ خالٌ خالَهُ القَلبُ إِذ بَدا
سُوَيداءهُits dark core فَالقَلبُso the heart مُغرىًenamored بِمُغرَمِof a love-stricken one
سُوَيداءهُ فَالقَلبُ مُغرىً بِمُغرَمِ
And on the cheek is a mole; when it appeared, the heart thought it
its own dark core; so the heart is enamored of a love-stricken one.
وَبيand within me كَلَفٌpassion ياO صاحِmy friend بِالكَلَفِfor the dark patch الَّذيthat
وَبي كَلَفٌ يا صاحِ بِالكَلَفِ الَّذي
يَلوحُgleams عَلىupon البَدرِthe full moon المُنيرِradiant المُتَمّمِcomplete
يَلوحُ عَلى البَدرِ المُنيرِ المُتَمّمِ
And I have a passion, my friend, for the dark patch that
gleams upon the radiant moon in its fullness.
سُقيتُI was given to drink بِحُبّيthrough my love سَيلَa flood of غالِيَةٍrich perfume جَرىflowed
سُقيتُ بِحُبّي سَيلَ غالِيَةٍ جَرى
بِتُفّاحَتَيover the two apples of خَدّيthe two cheeks of حَبيبٍa beloved مُنَعَّمِpampered
بِتُفّاحَتَي خَدّي حَبيبٍ مُنَعَّمِ
Through my love I was given rich perfume to drink—a flood that flowed
over the two apples of a pampered beloved's cheeks.
عَلىacross وَردِهِhis rose المُحمَرِّreddened دَبَّتcrept نِمالُهُhis ants
عَلى وَردِهِ المُحمَرِّ دَبَّت نِمالُهُ
إِلىtoward أُقحُوانِthe daisies of الثَغرِthe front teeth فيin عَسَلِthe honey of الفَمِthe mouth
إِلى أُقحُوانِ الثَغرِ في عَسَلِ الفَمِ
Across his reddened rose his ants crept,
toward the daisies of his teeth, amid the honey of his mouth.
فَيالَكَso, what a ... you are! مِنof مَرأىًa sight بَهِيٍّsplendid وَمَنظَرٍand a vision
فَيالَكَ مِن مَرأىً بَهِيٍّ وَمَنظَرٍ
شَهِيٍّalluring عَلَيهِupon it الحُسنُbeauty لَمdid not يَتَلَثَّمِveil its face
شَهِيٍّ عَلَيهِ الحُسنُ لَم يَتَلَثَّمِ
Oh, what a splendid sight, what a vision
so alluring, where beauty has not veiled its face!
فَمِنso from قَدِّهِhis stature المُهتَزِّswaying يَخطوhe strides بِذابِلٍwith a slender spear
فَمِن قَدِّهِ المُهتَزِّ يَخطو بِذابِلٍ
وَمِنand from لَحظِهِhis glance المُعتَزِّproud يَسطوhe strikes بِمِخذَمِwith a keen sword
وَمِن لَحظِهِ المُعتَزِّ يَسطو بِمِخذَمِ
So he strides with a slender spear—his swaying form—
and strikes with a keen sword—his proud glance.
وَيُغنيهِand suffices him عَمّاin place of what فيin الكِتابَةِwriting طَرفُهُhis gaze
وَيُغنيهِ عَمّا في الكِتابَةِ طَرفُهُ
عَلىupon طِرفِهِhis noble steed وَالشوسُwhile the fierce-eyed warriors فيin الحَربِbattle تَرتَميexchange shots
عَلى طِرفِهِ وَالشوسُ في الحَربِ تَرتَمي
And his gaze spares him the need for anything in writing,
as he rides his steed, while fierce-eyed warriors exchange shots in battle.
فَأَحسِنso, how splendid بِهِhe is يَومَthe day of الوَغىbattle مِنas a مُطَهَّمٍwell-formed man
فَأَحسِن بِهِ يَومَ الوَغى مِن مُطَهَّمٍ
عَلىon سابِحٍa fleet steed نَهدٍbroad-chested كُمَيتٍdark-bay مُطَهَّمِwell-formed
عَلى سابِحٍ نَهدٍ كُمَيتٍ مُطَهَّمِ
How splendid he is on battle's day, a well-formed rider,
on a fleet, broad-chested, dark-bay, well-formed steed!
فَمِنso because of لَحظِهِhis glance وَالقَدِّand stature أَصبوI yearn إِلىfor الظُبىsword-blades
فَمِن لَحظِهِ وَالقَدِّ أَصبو إِلى الظُبى
وَأَهوىand I long for اِعتِناقَembracing السَمهَرِيِّthe Samharī spear المُقَوَّمِstraightened
وَأَهوى اِعتِناقَ السَمهَرِيِّ المُقَوَّمِ
So, because of his glance and stature, I yearn for sword-blades,
and long to embrace the straightened Samharī spear.
وَبيand within me غُلَّةٌa burning thirst لاnot يَملِكُcan الماءُwater نَقعَهاquench it
وَبي غُلَّةٌ لا يَملِكُ الماءُ نَقعَها
وَلَكِنbut لَماهُhis dusky lips كَالرَحيقِlike pure wine المُفَدَّمِdeep-red
وَلَكِن لَماهُ كَالرَحيقِ المُفَدَّمِ
And I have a burning thirst that water cannot quench—
but his dusky lips are like pure, deep-red wine—
وَشَوقٌand longing كَأَطرافِlike the points of الأَسِنَّةِspearheads فيin الحَشاthe vitals
وَشَوقٌ كَأَطرافِ الأَسِنَّةِ في الحَشا
لَهُنَّthey have كُلومٌwounds لَمnot تُعالَجbeen treated بِمَرهَمِwith balm
لَهُنَّ كُلومٌ لَم تُعالَج بِمَرهَمِ
and a longing like the points of spearheads in my vitals,
whose wounds have not been treated with balm.
أَرىI deem التُركَthe Turks لِلإِسلامِfor Islam خَيرَthe best of حُماتِهِits defenders
أَرى التُركَ لِلإِسلامِ خَيرَ حُماتِهِ
وَماyet not يَتَّقونَthey fear اللَهَGod فيin قَتلِkilling مُسلِمِa Muslim
وَما يَتَّقونَ اللَهَ في قَتلِ مُسلِمِ
I deem the Turks Islam's finest defenders,
yet they do not fear God in killing a Muslim.
وَأَهيَفَand a slender-waisted youth فيin أَجفانِهِhis eyelids سِحرُthe magic of بابلٍBabylon
وَأَهيَفَ في أَجفانِهِ سِحرُ بابلٍ
وَهاروتُand Hārūt مَشغوفٌobsessed بِقَتلِwith killing المُتَيَّمِthe love-stricken one
وَهاروتُ مَشغوفٌ بِقَتلِ المُتَيَّمِ
And a slender-waisted youth, whose eyelids hold Babylon's magic,
and Hārūt is obsessed with slaying the love-stricken.
وَلَمَّاand when رَآنيhe saw me مُقبِلاًapproaching مُتَبَسِّماًsmiling
وَلَمَّا رَآني مُقبِلاً مُتَبَسِّماً
وواهاًand ah! لَهُfor him مِنas a مُقبِلٍone approaching مُتَبَسِّمِsmiling
وواهاً لَهُ مِن مُقبِلٍ مُتَبَسِّمِ
And when he saw me, approaching and smiling—
and ah, how lovely he was, approaching with a smile!—
تَساقَطَshowered down فوهُhis mouth لُؤلُؤاًpearls مُتَبَدِّداًscattered
تَساقَطَ فوهُ لُؤلُؤاً مُتَبَدِّداً
نَعِمتُI delighted بِهِin it مِنas لُؤلُؤٍpearls مُتَنَظِّمِstrung together
نَعِمتُ بِهِ مِن لُؤلُؤٍ مُتَنَظِّمِ
his mouth showered pearls, scattered loose;
I delighted in them, pearls strung together.