ما نَمَّ عَلى الصبح نَسيمُ الآسِ

ما نَمَّ عَلى الصبح نَسيمُ الآسِ

إِلّا لِهَواهُ حَنَّ قَلبي الآسي

إِلّا لِهَواهُ حَنَّ قَلبي الآسي

Never did the myrtle breeze betray the dawn

The morning breeze did not blow gently

without my sorrowing heart yearning for its love.

Except that my aching heart longed for him

بالريحِ وَطَرفِها وَقَلبي مَرَضٌ

بالريحِ وَطَرفِها وَقَلبي مَرَضٌ

يا طائِفَةَ المِراضِ هَل مِن آسِ

يا طائِفَةَ المِراضِ هَل مِن آسِ

There is sickness in the wind, her gaze, and my heart.

By the wind and its glance, my heart is ill

O company of the sick, is there a healer?

O you who cure ailments, is there a remedy?