فيin لَيلَةٍa night حالِكَةٍpitch-black كَالهُمومِlike sorrows
في لَيلَةٍ حالِكَةٍ كَالهُمومِ
هابِطَةٍsagging الجَوِّthe sky بِثِقلِbeneath the weight of الغُيومthe clouds
هابِطَةٍ الجَوِّ بِثِقلِ الغُيوم
On a night as dark as sorrows,
On a night as gloomy as sorrows
Its sky sagging beneath the weight of clouds,
The air heavy with thick clouds
كَأَنَّهاas though it قدalready حُبِلَتhad conceived بِالرُجومwith hurled stones
كَأَنَّها قد حُبِلَت بِالرُجوم
كانَwas الفَتىthe young man الشاعِرُthe poet مخدِعِهhis bedchamber
كانَ الفَتى الشاعِرُ مخدِعِه
As though it were pregnant with hurled stones,
As if laden with curses
The young poet was in his bedchamber,
The young poet in his retreat
يَبكيweeps فَيَجريso flows القَلبُthe heart فيin أَدمُعِهhis tears
يَبكي فَيَجري القَلبُ في أَدمُعِه
شِعراًpoetry يَعيهِunderstands it الحُزنُsorrow فيin مَسمَعِهhis hearing
شِعراً يَعيهِ الحُزنُ في مَسمَعِه
Weeping, his heart flowing through his tears
Crying, his heart flowing in his tears
As verse that sorrow grasped within his hearing.
Poetry that sorrow made audible to him
وَكانَتand was الشَمَعَةُthe candle فيin حُجرَتِهhis room
وَكانَت الشَمَعَةُ في حُجرَتِه
تَنزَعُstruggles in death كَالمَيِّتِlike the dying فيin ساعَتِهhis final hour
تَنزَعُ كَالمَيِّتِ في ساعَتِه
And the candle in his room
The candle in his room
Was struggling like a dying man in his final hour.
Fading like a dying man in his final hour
أَكلُّis every شَيءِthing مِثلُهاlike it لاnot يَدومlasting
أَكلُّ شَيءِ مِثلُها لا يَدوم
وَكانَتand was الوحدَةُsolitude كَالمَدفَنِlike a tomb
وَكانَت الوحدَةُ كَالمَدفَنِ
Does everything, like it, fail to endure?
Everything like it does not last
And solitude was like a tomb,
Solitude was like a grave
موحِشَةًdesolate فيin ذلِكَthat المَسكَنِdwelling
موحِشَةً في ذلِكَ المَسكَنِ
وَقَدand had سَطاoverpowered النَومُsleep عَلىupon الأَعيُنِthe eyes
وَقَد سَطا النَومُ عَلى الأَعيُنِ
Desolate within that dwelling,
Bleak in that dwelling
And sleep had overpowered all eyes.
And sleep had overcome the eyes
وَاِستَيقَظَand awoke الشاعِرُthe poet منfrom سَكرَتِهhis stupor
وَاِستَيقَظَ الشاعِرُ من سَكرَتِه
وَحَوَّلَand turned العَينَthe eye الىtoward شَمعَتِهhis candle
وَحَوَّلَ العَينَ الى شَمعَتِه
And the poet awoke from his stupor,
The poet woke from his intoxication
And turned his gaze toward his candle,
And turned his eye to his candle
أَنيسَةِcompanion of الأَشجانِsorrows فيin وُحدَتِهhis solitude
أَنيسَةِ الأَشجانِ في وُحدَتِه
وَبَعدَand after أَنthat مَرَّتpassed عَلَيهِover him ثَوانseconds
وَبَعدَ أَن مَرَّت عَلَيهِ ثَوان
Companion of sorrows in his solitude.
The comforter of sorrows in his loneliness
And after seconds had passed over him,
And after moments had passed over him
كَأَنَّهاas though they were منamong دامِياتِthe bleeding moments of الزَمانtime
كَأَنَّها من دامِياتِ الزَمان
قالَhe said بِصَوتٍin a voice راعِشٍtrembling مُحزِنِsorrowful
قالَ بِصَوتٍ راعِشٍ مُحزِنِ
As though they were among time's bleeding moments,
As if they were the centuries of time
He spoke in a trembling, sorrowful voice:
He said in a trembling, grieving voice
ياO شَمعَتيmy candle ماذاwhat وَراءَbeyond النَزاعthe death throes
يا شَمعَتي ماذا وَراءَ النَزاع
ماwhat is هذِهِthis القَطرَةُdrop تَحتَbeneath الشُعاعthe radiance
ما هذِهِ القَطرَةُ تَحتَ الشُعاع
O my candle, what lies beyond the death throes?
My candle, what is behind this drizzling?
What is this drop beneath the radiance?
What is this drop under the flame?
وَلِمand why أَرىdo I see فيهاin it اصفِرارَthe pallor of الوَداعfarewell
وَلِم أَرى فيها اصفِرارَ الوَداع
فيin دَمعِكِyour tears الشاحِبِpale نورٌa light يَذوبmelts
في دَمعِكِ الشاحِبِ نورٌ يَذوب
And why do I see in it the pallor of farewell?
Why do I see in it the yellowness of farewell
In your pale tears, a light melts away;
In your pale tear, melting light
ماذاwhat تَقولينَdo you say بهِthrough it لِلقُلوبto hearts
ماذا تَقولينَ بهِ لِلقُلوب
لِمwhy يَغمُرengulfs الشُعلَةthe flame هذاthis الشُحوبpallor
لِم يَغمُر الشُعلَة هذا الشُحوب
What do you tell hearts through it?
What are you telling hearts?
Why does this pallor engulf the flame?
Why does pallor shroud the flame?
أَيَنتَهيdoes it end الحُبُّlove كماas تَنتَهينyou end
أَيَنتَهي الحُبُّ كما تَنتَهين
ياO شَمعَتيmy candle ياO مَثَلimage of العاشِقينlovers
يا شَمعَتي يا مَثَل العاشِقين
Does love end as you do,
Where does love end as you end
O my candle, O image of lovers?
My candle, example of lovers
لَذّاتُهُits pleasures تَأتيcome وَتَمضيand pass سِراعswiftly
لَذّاتُهُ تَأتي وَتَمضي سِراع
وَإِذand as تَلاشىfaded نَفَسُthe breath of الشَمعَةِthe candle
وَإِذ تَلاشى نَفَسُ الشَمعَةِ
Its pleasures come and swiftly pass.
Its pleasures come and vanish quickly
And as the candle's breath faded,
And as the candle's breath faded
مِثلَlike تَلاشيthe fading of الروحِthe soul فيin المَيِّتِthe dying man
مِثلَ تَلاشي الروحِ في المَيِّتِ
ياO مَدفَنَtomb of الاِنوارِlights ماذاwhat وَراءbeyond
يا مَدفَنَ الاِنوارِ ماذا وَراء
Like the soul fading in a dying man,
Like the fading of the soul in the dead
O tomb of lights, what lies beyond
O tomb of lights, what is behind
هذاthis الدُجىdarkness الحالِكِpitch-black هذاthis الغِطاءcovering
هذا الدُجى الحالِكِ هذا الغِطاء
ماذاwhat وَراءَbeyond اللَيلِthe night هَلis there منany ضِياءlight
ماذا وَراءَ اللَيلِ هَل من ضِياء
This pitch-black darkness, this covering?
This pitch black darkness, this shroud
What lies beyond night? Is there any light?
What is behind the night, is there any glow?
لِمwhy يَنقَضيpasses اللَيلُthe night وَيَأتيand comes السَحَرthe predawn hour
لِم يَنقَضي اللَيلُ وَيَأتي السَحَر
مَهزَلَةٌa farce منamong مَهزَلاتِthe farces of القَدَرfate
مَهزَلَةٌ من مَهزَلاتِ القَدَر
Why does night pass and daybreak come?
Why does the night end and dawn comes
A farce among the farces of fate.
A farce of the tricks of fate
فيin ذلِكthat اللَيلِnight العَصيبِgrievous الطَويلlong
في ذلِك اللَيلِ العَصيبِ الطَويل
تذَكَّرَremembered الشاعِرُthe poet عَهداًa time جَميلbeautiful
تذَكَّرَ الشاعِرُ عَهداً جَميل
In that long, grievous night,
On that difficult, long night
The poet remembered a beautiful time,
The poet remembered a beautiful era
لمdid not يَرَsee مِنهُof it غيرَexcept شَطرِa portion ضَئيلtiny
لم يَرَ مِنهُ غيرَ شَطرِ ضَئيل
إِذاwhen كانَhe was فيin مَيعَتِهِhis youthful prime الناعِمَهtender
إِذا كانَ في مَيعَتِهِ الناعِمَه
Of which he had seen only a tiny part,
He saw only a small part of it
When he was in his tender youthful prime,
When he dreamed in his soft sleep
يَحلمُdreaming بِالسَعادَةِof happiness الدائِمَهeverlasting
يَحلمُ بِالسَعادَةِ الدائِمَه
خابَwas dashed رَجاءُthe hope of الأَنفُسِthe souls الحالِمَهdreaming
خابَ رَجاءُ الأَنفُسِ الحالِمَه
Dreaming of everlasting happiness.
Of eternal happiness
The hopes of dreaming souls were dashed.
The hopes of dreaming souls failed
ياO خافِقاًbeating heart أَلِلَّهَby God ماhow أَوجَعَكpained you are
يا خافِقاً أَلِلَّهَ ما أَوجَعَك
ماhow أَبخلَmiserly is الدُنياthe world وَماand how أَطمَعَكgrasping you are
ما أَبخلَ الدُنيا وَما أَطمَعَك
O beating heart—by God, how you ache!
Oh aching heart, how you hurt
How miserly the world, and how grasping you are!
How the world was miserly yet hopeful to you
تُعطيyou give وَلاand not تُمنَحُyou are granted حَتّىeven القَليلa little
تُعطي وَلا تُمنَحُ حَتّى القَليل
فيin ذلِكَthat اللَيلُnight وَماand how أَظلَمَهdark it was
في ذلِكَ اللَيلُ وَما أَظلَمَه
You give, yet are not granted even a little.
It gives without even granting a little
In that night—and how dark it was—
On that night so dark
ذِكرُmemory of الصِبىyouth فيin الأَكبُدِthe livers (hearts) المُغرَمَهlove-stricken
ذِكرُ الصِبى في الأَكبُدِ المُغرَمَه
وَنورُهand its light فيin اللَيلَةِthe night المُظلِمَهdark
وَنورُه في اللَيلَةِ المُظلِمَه
The memory of youth in love-stricken hearts,
Memory of the loved one in the enamored liver
And its light in the darkened night.
And his light in the gloomy night
تَذكَّرَremembered الشاعِرُthe poet فَجرَthe dawn of الشَبابyouth
تَذكَّرَ الشاعِرُ فَجرَ الشَباب
وَذلِكَand that الواديvalley وَتِلكَand those الهِضابhills
وَذلِكَ الوادي وَتِلكَ الهِضاب
The poet remembered the dawn of youth,
The poet remembered the dawn of youth
And that valley, and those hills,
That valley and those plateaus
وَعودَةَand the return of القُطعانِthe flocks عِندَat الغِيابsundown
وَعودَةَ القُطعانِ عِندَ الغِياب
وَوالِداًand a father مَرَّpassed مُرورَthe passing of الشَبحa ghost
وَوالِداً مَرَّ مُرورَ الشَبح
And the flocks returning at sundown,
And the return of the flock when gone
And a father who had passed like a ghost,
And a father who passed like an apparition
كَأَنَّهas though he were يومُa day of صَفاءٍserenity سَنَحappeared
كَأَنَّه يومُ صَفاءٍ سَنَح
فَقالَthen he said ياO قَلبيmy heart الىto الجَلجَلهGolgotha
فَقالَ يا قَلبي الى الجَلجَله
As though he were a day of serenity that had appeared.
As if it were a clear, fine day
Then he said: O my heart, to Golgotha
So he said: Oh my heart, till judgement day
حَملتَyou carried آمالَhopes of الصِبىyouth المُثقَلَهburdened
حَملتَ آمالَ الصِبى المُثقَلَه
وَلمand did not تَدَعleave مِنهاof them سِوىexcept الأَخيِلَهphantoms
وَلم تَدَع مِنها سِوى الأَخيِلَه
You carried youth's burdened hopes,
You carried the heavy hopes of the boy
And left of them nothing but phantoms.
And left of them only the mirages
أحلِsweeten غَلواءُardor وَأَجلِand dispel العَذابthe torment
أحلِ غَلواءُ وَأَجلِ العَذاب
كَتَبتَyou wrote ليfor me فيin الحُبlove هذاthis الكِتابbook
كَتَبتَ لي في الحُب هذا الكِتاب
Sweeten the ardor and dispel the torment.
Oh high sorrows and eternal torment
You wrote this book for me in love,
You wrote me this book of love
ياO شُعلَةًflame مَحجوبَةًhidden بِالهِضابby the hills
يا شُعلَةً مَحجوبَةً بِالهِضاب
ياO قَلبِmy heart
يا قَلبِ
O flame hidden by the hills,
O flame obscured by plateaus
O my heart!
Oh heart
إِذاsuddenly بِهِthere he was فيin الحُجرَةِthe room المُظلِمَهdark
إِذا بِهِ في الحُجرَةِ المُظلِمَه
يُصغيlistens إِلىto حَشرَجَةٍa death-rattle مُؤلِمَهpainful
يُصغي إِلى حَشرَجَةٍ مُؤلِمَه
Suddenly, there he was in the darkened room,
As he listens in the dark room
Listening to a painful death-rattle,
To a painful murmur
بَينَbetween خفوقَthe beating of القَلبِthe heart وَالتَمتَمَهand murmuring
بَينَ خفوقَ القَلبِ وَالتَمتَمَه
وَراءَand he saw فيin قَلبِthe heart of الدُجىdarkness والِدَهhis father
وَراءَ في قَلبِ الدُجى والِدَه
Between the beating of the heart and murmuring.
Between the heartbeats and stutters
And he saw his father in the heart of darkness,
Behind in the heart of darkness, his father
يَغيمُgrows misty فيin شَفّافَةٍa translucent form صاعِدَهrising
يَغيمُ في شَفّافَةٍ صاعِدَه
منfrom صُلبِthe loins of تِلكَthat اللَيلَةِnight البارِدَهcold
من صُلبِ تِلكَ اللَيلَةِ البارِدَه
Growing misty in a translucent form rising
Looms in rising transparency
From the loins of that cold night,
From the essence of that cold night
كَأَنَّهاas though it وهيَwhile it تَشُقُّcleaves القَتامthe murk
كَأَنَّها وهيَ تَشُقُّ القَتام
لَوحَةُa picture of فَجرٍdawn فيin إِطارِa frame of الظَلامdarkness
لَوحَةُ فَجرٍ في إِطارِ الظَلام
As though, while cleaving the murk,
As if slicing through the dark
It were a picture of dawn framed by darkness,
A glimpse of dawn in a frame of darkness
أَوor وَمضَةٌa flash منfrom شُعلَةٍa flame مُبهَمَهindistinct
أَو وَمضَةٌ من شُعلَةٍ مُبهَمَه
قُدِّستِhallowed are you ياO غَيبوبَةَtrance of الشاعِرِthe poet
قُدِّستِ يا غَيبوبَةَ الشاعِرِ
Or a flash from an indistinct flame.
Or a flashing from an obscure flame
Hallowed are you, O trance of the poet,
Sanctified is the swoon of the poet
رُؤياa vision كَمَرِّlike the passing of الحُلُمِthe dream الطاهِرِpure
رُؤيا كَمَرِّ الحُلُمِ الطاهِرِ
أَوor كَالهَوىlike love فيin عَهدِهِits time الساحِرenchanting
أَو كَالهَوى في عَهدِهِ الساحِر
A vision like the passing of a pure dream,
A vision like a trail of pure dreams
Or like love in its enchanting days.
Or like love in its magical era
قُدِّسَتhallowed فيin أَحلامِكِyour dreams الشاحِبَهpale
قُدِّسَت في أَحلامِكِ الشاحِبَه
قَدَّستِhallowed are you فيin آلامِكyour sorrows الذائِبَهmelting
قَدَّستِ في آلامِك الذائِبَه
Hallowed in your pale dreams,
Sanctified in your wan dreams
Hallowed in your melting sorrows,
Sanctified in your lasting pains
فيin روحِكِyour spirit الحاضِرَةpresent الغائِبَةabsent
في روحِكِ الحاضِرَة الغائِبَة
فيin كُلِّall ماthat تَحمِلُcarry مِنكِof you العُيونthe eyes
في كُلِّ ما تَحمِلُ مِنكِ العُيون
In your spirit, both present and absent,
In your present, absent soul
In all that eyes carry of you,
In all the sorrow that eyes carry from you
فيin سورَةِthe surge of الحُبlove وَسُكرand the intoxication of الجُنونmadness
في سورَةِ الحُب وَسُكر الجُنون
وَفيand in اِختِلاجٍthe fluttering of الخافِقِthe beating heart الحائِرbewildered
وَفي اِختِلاجٍ الخافِقِ الحائِر
In love's ardor and the intoxication of madness,
In the rapture of love and the madness of passion
And in the bewildered heart's fluttering.
And in the confusion of the puzzled, bewildered heart
فيin جَوفِthe depths of تِلكَthat اللَيلَةِnight البارِدَهcold
في جَوفِ تِلكَ اللَيلَةِ البارِدَه
كَأَنَّهاas though it were ضَمائِرٌconsciences جاحِدَهungrateful
كَأَنَّها ضَمائِرٌ جاحِدَه
In the depths of that cold night,
In the gut of that cold night
As though it were ungrateful consciences,
As if they were hostile consciences
تخطُرُflits فيهاwithin them فِكرَةٌa thought حاقِدَهspiteful
تخطُرُ فيها فِكرَةٌ حاقِدَه
وَلِلرياحِand the winds have الهوجِraging بَينَamong الوَرَقthe leaves
وَلِلرياحِ الهوجِ بَينَ الوَرَق
Within which a spiteful thought flitted,
In which an inimical idea crept
And the raging winds among the leaves
And for the violent winds in the leaves
عَزفٌmusic كَأَنَّas though الجِنَّthe jinn فيهِwithin it زَعَقshrieked
عَزفٌ كَأَنَّ الجِنَّ فيهِ زَعَق
فَمَزَّقَso it tore apart الأَرواحَthe souls ثُمَّthen انطَلَقrushed away
فَمَزَّقَ الأَرواحَ ثُمَّ انطَلَق
Made music as though the jinn shrieked within it;
A tune as if jinn in it shrieked
It tore souls apart, then swept away.
It tore souls then vanished
تَحَرَّكَstirred اللَيلُthe night وَقالَand said الخَيالthe phantom
تَحَرَّكَ اللَيلُ وَقالَ الخَيال
منwhoever لَيسَdoes not يَبكيweep فيin اللَياليthe nights الطِوالlong
من لَيسَ يَبكي في اللَيالي الطِوال
The night stirred, and the phantom spoke:
The night stirred and the imagination said:
Whoever does not weep through the long nights,
Who does not cry on long nights?
وَلاand does not يَدميmake bleed المقلةَthe eye الساهِدَهsleepless
وَلا يَدمي المقلةَ الساهِدَه
منwhoever لَمhas not يَذُقtasted فيin الخُبزِbread طعمَthe taste of الأَلَمpain
من لَم يَذُق في الخُبزِ طعمَ الأَلَم
Nor makes his sleepless eye bleed,
And bloody the brooding eyelid
Whoever has not tasted pain in his bread,
Who did not taste pain in bread?
وَلمand has not يُنَكِّرdisfigured وَجنَتَيهِhis cheeks السَقَمsickness
وَلم يُنَكِّر وَجنَتَيهِ السَقَم
وَتَسلخِand flay الأَوجاعُthe agonies مِنهُfrom him حِطَمfragments
وَتَسلخِ الأَوجاعُ مِنهُ حِطَم
Whose cheeks sickness has not disfigured,
And disease negate his cheeks
Nor been flayed to shreds by agonies,
And sorrows flayed him to pieces
مَنwhoever لاdoes not يَرىsee فيin الشَمسِthe sun طيفَthe ghost of الغُروبsunset
مَن لا يَرى في الشَمسِ طيفَ الغُروب
وَيَسمَعُand hear اللَيلَat night اِختِلاجَthe fluttering of القُلوبhearts
وَيَسمَعُ اللَيلَ اِختِلاجَ القُلوب
Whoever does not see sunset's ghost in the sun,
Who does not see the specter of sunset in the sun
Nor hear, at night, the fluttering of hearts,
And hears the agitation of hearts by night
وَيَرصُدُand watch الشَمعَةthe candle حَتّىuntil تَذوبit melts
وَيَرصُدُ الشَمعَة حَتّى تَذوب
منwhoever لَمhas not يَغمسdipped فيin هواهُhis love دمهhis blood
من لَم يَغمس في هواهُ دمه
Nor watch the candle until it melts,
And watches the candle until it melts?
Whoever has not steeped his blood in his love,
Who did not dip his blood in his passion?
منwhoever يَمنَعprevents الأَهوالُthe terrors أَنfrom تُطعِمَهfeeding him
من يَمنَع الأَهوالُ أَن تُطعِمَه
وَلاand does not يَرىsee فيin كُلِّevery جُرحٍwound حِكَمwisdom
وَلا يَرى في كُلِّ جُرحٍ حِكَم
Whoever keeps terrors from feeding him,
Who calamity prevents from feeding him?
Nor finds wisdom in every wound,
And sees no wisdom in every wound?
منwhoever لَيسَdoes not يَرقىclimb ذَروَةَthe summit of الجَلجَلَهGolgotha
من لَيسَ يَرقى ذَروَةَ الجَلجَلَه
وَلمand has not يُسمِّرnailed فيin الهَوىlove أَنمُلَهhis fingertips
وَلم يُسمِّر في الهَوى أَنمُلَه
Whoever does not climb Golgotha's summit,
Who does not climb sorrow's peak?
Nor nail his fingertips down for love,
And his fingers did not wither in love
وَيُرفَعِand is raised العَلقَمُthe gall وَالخَلُّand the vinegar لَهto him
وَيُرفَعِ العَلقَمُ وَالخَلُّ لَه
مَنwhoever يَصرفspends العُمرَlife عَلىon المخمَلِvelvet
مَن يَصرف العُمرَ عَلى المخمَلِ
Nor have gall and vinegar held up to him,
As the gum and date clusters are raised for him
Whoever spends his life upon velvet,
Who spends his life in luxury
وَلاand does not يَذوقُtaste البُؤسَmisery فيat الأَوَّلِthe outset
وَلا يَذوقُ البُؤسَ في الأَوَّلِ
وَلاand not الاسىsorrow فيin مخدِعٍa bedchamber مُقفَلِlocked
وَلا الاسى في مخدِعٍ مُقفَلِ
And tastes no misery at its outset,
And tastes neither misery early on
Nor sorrow in a locked bedchamber,
Nor anguish in a closed retreat
لَنwill never يَعرِفَknow العُمرَlife شعاعَa ray of الإِلهGod
لَن يَعرِفَ العُمرَ شعاعَ الإِله
وَلنand will not يَرىsee آمالَهُhis hopes فيin رؤاهhis visions
وَلن يَرى آمالَهُ في رؤاه
Will never know life as a ray of God,
Will not know life’s divine glow
Nor see his hopes in his visions,
Will not see his hopes in his vision
بَلbut rather عالِماًa world يَخبِطُfloundering فيin مَهزَلَهa farce
بَل عالِماً يَخبِطُ في مَهزَلَه
وَاِنسَحَبَand withdrew الطَيفُthe phantom الىinto ظُلمَتِهits darkness
وَاِنسَحَبَ الطَيفُ الى ظُلمَتِه
Only a world floundering in a farce.
But a confused scholar in his farce
And the phantom withdrew into its darkness,
And the specter withdrew into its darkness
يَجُرُّdragging بِالأَذيالِin the trailing skirts منof وَمضَتِهits gleam
يَجُرُّ بِالأَذيالِ من وَمضَتِه
عَينَthe eye of الفَتىthe young man الغَرقىdrowned بِغَيبوبَتهin his trance
عَينَ الفَتى الغَرقى بِغَيبوبَته
Dragging in the trailing skirts of its gleam
Dragging the trains of its glimmer
The young man's eye, drowned in his trance.
The lad's eyes drowned in his swoon
حَتّىuntil إِذاwhen سادَreigned السُكونُstillness المُخيفُfrightening
حَتّى إِذا سادَ السُكونُ المُخيفُ
وَكانand there was فيin الخارِجthe outside صَوتُthe sound of الحَفيفrustling
وَكان في الخارِج صَوتُ الحَفيف
Until, when the fearful stillness reigned,
Until silence prevailed frighteningly
And outside, the sound of rustling
And outside was the sound of rustling
يَعلوrising شَديداًstrongly مِنfrom غُصونِthe boughs of الخَريفautumn
يَعلو شَديداً مِن غُصونِ الخَريف
أَفاقَawoke منfrom سَكرَتِهِhis stupor الشاعِرُthe poet
أَفاقَ من سَكرَتِهِ الشاعِرُ
Rose fiercely from autumn's boughs,
Growing intensely from the boughs of autumn
The poet awoke from his stupor,
The poet awoke from his drunkenness
وَقالَand said هلis يُرجىhoped for لَهfor it آخِرُan end
وَقالَ هل يُرجى لَه آخِرُ
هذاthis الدُجىdarkness الغارِقُsubmerged فيin ثورَتِهits fury
هذا الدُجى الغارِقُ في ثورَتِه
And said: Is there hope of an end
And said: can there be hoped for it an end
To this darkness, submerged in its fury?
This darkness sunk in its rebellion?
قَدmay يَحمِلُbring الفَجرَthe dawn عَزاءًsolace إِلَيّto me
قَد يَحمِلُ الفَجرَ عَزاءً إِلَيّ
إِنif حَمَلَit brings النورَlight إِلىto مُقلَتَيَّmy eyes
إِن حَمَلَ النورَ إِلى مُقلَتَيَّ
Dawn may bring me solace,
It may carry solace of dawn to me
If it brings light to my eyes,
If it carried light to my eyes
فَاللَيلُfor the night قَدhas أَخنىworn down عَلىupon كاهِلَيَّmy shoulders
فَاللَيلُ قَد أَخنى عَلى كاهِلَيَّ
يُخيفُنيfrightens me اللَيلُthe night بِأَرواحِهwith its spirits
يُخيفُني اللَيلُ بِأَرواحِه
For night has worn down my shoulders.
The night has worn out my shoulders
Night frightens me with its spirits,
The night frightens me with its spirits
ثائِرَةًraging كَالهَولِlike terror فيin ساحِهِits expanse
ثائِرَةً كَالهَولِ في ساحِهِ
وَبِالرُؤىand with visions منof بيضِwhite اِشباحِهits phantoms
وَبِالرُؤى من بيضِ اِشباحِه
Raging like terror in its expanse,
Agitated like horrors in its field
And with visions of its white phantoms.
And with specters from eggs of ghosts
لاdo not أنشِدُI seek البُؤسَmisery وَلاand do not أَرغَبُI desire
لا أنشِدُ البُؤسَ وَلا أَرغَبُ
فيin حَملbearing حُبٍّa love قَومُهُits people عُذِّبواwere tormented
في حَمل حُبٍّ قَومُهُ عُذِّبوا
I do not seek misery, nor do I desire
I do not elegize misery nor do I wish
To bear a love whose people were tormented,
To carry a love whose kin are tortured
فَالحُبُّfor love فيamid الآلامِsuffering ثِقلٌa burden عَلَيَّupon me
فَالحُبُّ في الآلامِ ثِقلٌ عَلَيَّ
يُخيفُنيfrightens me فيin مَخدِعيmy bedchamber البارِدِcold
يُخيفُني في مَخدِعي البارِدِ
For love amid suffering is a burden to me.
Love in pain is a burden upon me
In my cold bedchamber, I am frightened by
My cold retreat frightens me
خَيالُthe image of حُبِّa love مُبهَمٍindistinct جامِدِfrozen
خَيالُ حُبِّ مُبهَمٍ جامِدِ
أَبكَمَmute كَالأَرماسlike graves ياO والِديmy father
أَبكَمَ كَالأَرماس يا والِدي
The image of an indistinct, frozen love,
The specter of an ambiguous, frozen love
Mute as graves, O my father.
Speechless like orphans, O father!
يُخيفُنيfrightens me اللَيلُthe night فَأَينَso where is السَحَرthe predawn hour
يُخيفُني اللَيلُ فَأَينَ السَحَر
يَطرُدُdrives away مِنfrom عَينَيَّmy eyes هذيthese الصُوَرimages
يَطرُدُ مِن عَينَيَّ هذي الصُوَر
Night frightens me; where is the dawn
The night frightens me, where is dawn
To drive these images from my eyes,
To dispel these images from my eyes
وَماand whatever عَلَيهاupon them منof شَقاءِthe misery of البَشَرhumankind
وَما عَلَيها من شَقاءِ البَشَر
كانَwas الدُجىthe darkness لمّاnot yet يَزَلceasing ثائِراraging
كانَ الدُجى لمّا يَزَل ثائِرا
And all the human misery upon them?
And what they carry of mankind’s woe?
The darkness was still raging,
The gloom was still raging
وَالريحُand the wind تُدميmakes bleed الأُفُقَthe horizon الماطِراrain-filled
وَالريحُ تُدمي الأُفُقَ الماطِرا
بِالبَرقِwith lightning جُرحِthe wound of المَلإِthe heavenly host الخالِدِeternal
بِالبَرقِ جُرحِ المَلإِ الخالِدِ
And the wind made the rain-filled horizon bleed
And the winds bloodied the rainy horizon
With lightning—the wound of the eternal host—
With lightning, wound of the eternal kingdom
كَأَنَّas though لِلَّيلِthe night had هَوىًa love حائِراbewildered
كَأَنَّ لِلَّيلِ هَوىً حائِرا
ذاقَtasted الأَسىsorrow فَلَمand did not يَزَلcease ساهِراbeing awake
ذاقَ الأَسى فَلَم يَزَل ساهِرا
As though night had a bewildered love
As if the night had wandering passion
That had tasted sorrow and still remained awake.
That tasted anguish and still kept vigil