شاعِرَ الدَمعِ ما جَنيتُ بِشَيءٍ

شاعِرَ الدَمعِ ما جَنيتُ بِشَيءٍ

فَدُموعي الخَرساءُ أَطيَبُ لَحنِ

فَدُموعي الخَرساءُ أَطيَبُ لَحنِ

O poet of tears, I have done no wrong.

O bard of tears, I gained nothing

For my mute tears are the sweetest melody.

So my mute tears are the sweetest melody

أَنا قَيثارَةٌ ضَربتَ عَلَيها

أَنا قَيثارَةٌ ضَربتَ عَلَيها

فَبَكى لَحنُها وَأَنتَ المُغَنّي

فَبَكى لَحنُها وَأَنتَ المُغَنّي

I am a lyre upon which you played;

I am a lute you played

so its melody wept, and you are the singer.

So its tune wept while you sang

فَكِلانا نَشدو عَلى مَسمَعِ الحُ

فَكِلانا نَشدو عَلى مَسمَعِ الحُ

بِّ وَنَتلو آياتِه بِتَأَنِّ

بِّ وَنَتلو آياتِه بِتَأَنِّ

So we both sing within the hearing of

So both of us recite to the hearing of love

love, and recite its verses unhurriedly.

And read its verses slowly

وَدُموعي رَسّامَةٌ في خُدودي

وَدُموعي رَسّامَةٌ في خُدودي

نَغَماتِ الهَوى بِأَتقَنِ فَنِّ

نَغَماتِ الهَوى بِأَتقَنِ فَنِّ

And my tears paint upon my cheeks

And my tears are a painter on my cheeks

the notes of passion with the finest artistry.

Of the melodies of love in the most skilled art