عَلِيلٌ أَنْتَ مُسْقِمُهُ

عَلِيلٌ أَنْتَ مُسْقِمُهُ

فَمَا لَكَ لا تُكَلِّمُهُ

فَمَا لَكَ لا تُكَلِّمُهُ

He is ailing—you are the one who sickens him.

You are ill, and wasted away,

Why, then, do you not speak to him?

Yet you do not speak to me.

سَرَى فِيهِ الضَّنَى حَتَّى

سَرَى فِيهِ الضَّنَى حَتَّى

بَدَتْ لِلْعَيْنِ أَعْظُمُهُ

بَدَتْ لِلْعَيْنِ أَعْظُمُهُ

Wasting crept through him until

Sorrow has overtaken you,

his bones became visible to the eye.

Until it is clear in your eyes.

فَلا إِنْ بَاحَ تَعْذِرُهُ

فَلا إِنْ بَاحَ تَعْذِرُهُ

وَلا إِنْ نَاحَ تَرْحَمُهُ

وَلا إِنْ نَاحَ تَرْحَمُهُ

So if he confesses, you do not excuse him,

Do not make excuses if you confess,

nor, if he wails, do you pity him.

Nor weep that I may pity you.

إِذَا كَانَ الْهَوَى ذَنْبِي

إِذَا كَانَ الْهَوَى ذَنْبِي

فَقُلْ لِي كَيْفَ أَكْتُمُهُ

فَقُلْ لِي كَيْفَ أَكْتُمُهُ

If love is my sin,

If passion is my sin,

then tell me how I can conceal it.

Tell me, how can I hide it?

وَدَمْعِي أَنْتَ مُرْسِلُهُ

وَدَمْعِي أَنْتَ مُرْسِلُهُ

وَقَلْبِي أَنْتَ مُؤْلِمُهُ

وَقَلْبِي أَنْتَ مُؤْلِمُهُ

And my tears—you are the one who sets them flowing;

You unleash my tears,

and my heart—you are the one who makes it ache.

And torment my heart.

وَلا وَاللَّهِ مَا لِي فِي الْ

وَلا وَاللَّهِ مَا لِي فِي الْ

هَوَى ذَنْبٌ فَأَعْلَمُهُ

هَوَى ذَنْبٌ فَأَعْلَمُهُ

No, by God, I have no sin in

By God, I have no sin in love,

love that I know of.

So do not blame me for it.

فَوَيْلِي مِنْ غَرِيبِ الدَّلْ

فَوَيْلِي مِنْ غَرِيبِ الدَّلْ

لِ أَبْلانِي تَحَكُّمُهُ

لِ أَبْلانِي تَحَكُّمُهُ

So woe to me for one so strangely coy—

Woe to me, for the strange heart

his tyranny has worn me down.

That made me obey its whim!

تَرَدَّدَ فِي مَحَبَّتِهِ

تَرَدَّدَ فِي مَحَبَّتِهِ

وَلَمْ يَسْمَحْ بِهَا فَمُهُ

وَلَمْ يَسْمَحْ بِهَا فَمُهُ

He wavered in his love,

He hesitated in his love,

and his mouth would not voice it.

And did not allow his mouth to speak it.

غَزَالٌ أَحْوَرُ الْعَيْنَيْ

غَزَالٌ أَحْوَرُ الْعَيْنَيْ

نِ لا يَسْلُو مُتَيَّمُهُ

نِ لا يَسْلُو مُتَيَّمُهُ

A dark-eyed gazelle—

A gazelle, dark-eyed,

his besotted lover never forgets him.

That cannot cure lovesickness.

يَهِيمُ بِحُسْنِ صُورَتِهِ

يَهِيمُ بِحُسْنِ صُورَتِهِ

فُؤادِي وَهوَ يَظْلِمُهُ

فُؤادِي وَهوَ يَظْلِمُهُ

Enraptured by the beauty of his form

My heart is possessed by his beauty,

is my heart, while he wrongs it.

While he wrongs it.

نَسَبْتُ بِهِ فَبَانَ عَلَى

نَسَبْتُ بِهِ فَبَانَ عَلَى

جَبِينِ الشِّعْرِ مِيسَمُهُ

جَبِينِ الشِّعْرِ مِيسَمُهُ

I sang love verses about him, and there appeared upon

I attributed him, so his name

the brow of poetry his brand.

Appeared on the cheek of poetry.

فَمَا لِي فِي الَّذِي أُمْلِي

فَمَا لِي فِي الَّذِي أُمْلِي

هِ مِنْ فَضْلٍ فَأَغْنَمُهُ

هِ مِنْ فَضْلٍ فَأَغْنَمُهُ

So in what I dictate, I have no

I have no merit over what I dictate,

merit to claim as gain.

So I cannot claim it.

وَلَكِنْ حُسْنُهُ يَبْدُو

وَلَكِنْ حُسْنُهُ يَبْدُو

إِلَى عَيْنِي فَتَرْسُمُهُ

إِلَى عَيْنِي فَتَرْسُمُهُ

But his beauty appears

But his beauty appears

before my eye, which then portrays it.

To my eyes, so I depict it,

وَيَنْثُرُ لَفْظَهُ دُرّاً

وَيَنْثُرُ لَفْظَهُ دُرّاً

عَلَى سَمْعِي فَأَنْظِمُهُ

عَلَى سَمْعِي فَأَنْظِمُهُ

And he scatters his words as pearls

And his words scatter pearls

upon my hearing, and I string them into verse.

Upon my hearing, so I string them as verses.

وَلَوْلا ذَاكَ مَا لاحَتْ

وَلَوْلا ذَاكَ مَا لاحَتْ

بِأُفْقِ الشِّعْرِ أَنْجُمُهُ

بِأُفْقِ الشِّعْرِ أَنْجُمُهُ

And without that, there would not have shone

If not for that, his stars would not

on poetry's horizon its stars.

Have risen on the horizon of poetry.

فَقُلْ مَا شِئْتَ في شِعْرِي

فَقُلْ مَا شِئْتَ في شِعْرِي

وَخَيْرُ الْقَوْلِ أَحْكَمُهُ

وَخَيْرُ الْقَوْلِ أَحْكَمُهُ

So say what you will about my poetry,

Say what you will of my verse,

and the best of speech is the wisest.

The best words are the most just.