وَجَدَ القَريضُ إِلى العِتابِ سَبيلا

وَجَدَ القَريضُ إِلى العِتابِ سَبيلا

فَثَنى مَعاذِرَكَ الوُعورَ سُهولا

فَثَنى مَعاذِرَكَ الوُعورَ سُهولا

Poetry found a path to reproach,

The rhymester found the path to reproach clear,

and turned your rugged excuses into level plains.

So he smoothed your rugged offenses into gentle slopes.

ما لي أُحَرِّكُ مِن وَفائِكَ ساكِناً

ما لي أُحَرِّكُ مِن وَفائِكَ ساكِناً

وَأَهُزُّ مِنكَ إِلى الصَفاءِ كَليلا

وَأَهُزُّ مِنكَ إِلى الصَفاءِ كَليلا

Why do I stir what lies dormant in your loyalty,

Why should I stir your dormant loyalty,

and rouse what is sluggish in you toward sincere affection?

And shake off from you pure clarity but little?

طالَ المِطالُ بِرَدِّ وِدٍّ لَم يَزَل

طالَ المِطالُ بِرَدِّ وِدٍّ لَم يَزَل

عِندي مَصوناً فيكُمُ مَبذولا

عِندي مَصوناً فيكُمُ مَبذولا

Long has the delay lasted in returning affection that has always

Prolonged hope for a beloved who never changes

been treasured by me and freely given to you.

Remains guarded in me while in you given.

فَإِلى مَتى يُنشي عِتابُكَ هَبوَةً

فَإِلى مَتى يُنشي عِتابُكَ هَبوَةً

وَتَشُنُّها قالاً عَلَيَّ وَقيلا

وَتَشُنُّها قالاً عَلَيَّ وَقيلا

So how long will your reproach stir up a dust cloud,

So how long will your reproach raise a storm,

and you unleash it against me as gossip and hearsay?

And sharpen it as words against me and tales?

في كُلِّ يَومٍ غارَةٌ ما تَنقَضي

في كُلِّ يَومٍ غارَةٌ ما تَنقَضي

إِلّا وَتَثني سَيفَهُ مَفلولا

إِلّا وَتَثني سَيفَهُ مَفلولا

Each day brings a raid that never ends

Each day an incursion that does not end

without sending his sword back blunted.

Except to sheathe his sword made blunt.

إِنَّ الَّذي قَصَدَ المَدائِحَ غُلَّةً

إِنَّ الَّذي قَصَدَ المَدائِحَ غُلَّةً

أَحرى بِأَن يَجِدَ الهِجاءَ غَليلا

أَحرى بِأَن يَجِدَ الهِجاءَ غَليلا

Indeed, whoever sought panegyrics out of burning thirst

Truly he who sought praise voraciously

is likelier to find satire burning with rancor.

More deserves to find censure his companion.

كَم مِن نِظامٍ قَد نَثَرنَ هَواجِسي

كَم مِن نِظامٍ قَد نَثَرنَ هَواجِسي

حَتّى نَظَمتُ العُذرَ فيهِ فُضولا

حَتّى نَظَمتُ العُذرَ فيهِ فُضولا

How many a string of verse my thoughts have scattered,

How many compositions have my anxieties strewn

until I strung excuses into it as needless additions!

Until I wove exoneration into them excessively?

وَقَصائِدٍ سَدَّدتُهُنَّ أَسِنَّةً

وَقَصائِدٍ سَدَّدتُهُنَّ أَسِنَّةً

وَشَهَرتُهُنَّ قَواضِباً وَنُصولا

وَشَهَرتُهُنَّ قَواضِباً وَنُصولا

And odes I aimed like spearheads

And poems I buttressed sturdily

and brandished like cutting swords and blades

And publicized them ships and convoys.

جُعِلَت لِرَقراقِ السُرورِ جَداوِلاً

جُعِلَت لِرَقراقِ السُرورِ جَداوِلاً

نَحوَ القُلوبِ وَلِلهُمومِ سَبيلا

نَحوَ القُلوبِ وَلِلهُمومِ سَبيلا

were made channels for rippling joy

They were made streams for the tinkle of joy

toward hearts, and a pathway for sorrows.

To hearts, and for sorrows an open road.