حَباني عَلى بُعدِ المَدى بِتَحِيَّةٍ

حَباني عَلى بُعدِ المَدى بِتَحِيَّةٍ

أَرى غُصني رَطبَ المَهَزِّ بِها نَضرا

أَرى غُصني رَطبَ المَهَزِّ بِها نَضرا

He bestowed a greeting on me across the great distance,

With greetings, I call to you from afar

Through which I see my branch supple in its sway and verdant.

My fresh, moist branch seems rejuvenated by it

بَرائِيَّةٍ لَم أَدرِ عِندَ اِجتِلائِها

بَرائِيَّةٍ لَم أَدرِ عِندَ اِجتِلائِها

هِيَ الدُرُّ مَنظوماً أَمِ الزَهرُ مُفتَرّا

هِيَ الدُرُّ مَنظوماً أَمِ الزَهرُ مُفتَرّا

A poem rhyming in rāʾ—when I beheld it, I could not tell:

An innocent greeting I did not know when it shone

Was it strung pearls, or blossoms unfolding?

Is it prose rhymed or verse fabricated?

وَما سِرُّ نَوّارٍ بِمَمطورَةِ الرُبى

وَما سِرُّ نَوّارٍ بِمَمطورَةِ الرُبى

تَبوحُ أُصَيلاناً بِهِ الريحُ أَو فَجرا

تَبوحُ أُصَيلاناً بِهِ الريحُ أَو فَجرا

Nor is the secret scent of blossoms on rain-soaked hills,

What is the secret of luminous stars in a starry night

Which the wind reveals in late afternoon or at dawn,

That the wind whispers tenderly about at dawn or openly

بِأَطيَبَ مِنها في الأُنوفِ وَغَيرِها

بِأَطيَبَ مِنها في الأُنوفِ وَغَيرِها

تَجاذَبَها سِرّاً بَنو الدَهرِ أَو جَهرا

تَجاذَبَها سِرّاً بَنو الدَهرِ أَو جَهرا

Sweeter than it, to noses and other senses,

With a fragrance better than it in noses and more

As the children of Time pass it around, secretly or openly.

The people of time whispered or declared about it secretly

أَعِندَكُم أَنّا نَبيتُ لِبُعدِكُم

أَعِندَكُم أَنّا نَبيتُ لِبُعدِكُم

وَكُلُّ يَدٍ مِنّا عَلى كَبِدٍ حَرّى

وَكُلُّ يَدٍ مِنّا عَلى كَبِدٍ حَرّى

Do you know that, because you are far away, we spend the night

Do you have us growing at your absence

With each hand of ours upon a burning liver?

And every one of us with a burning liver

وَمِن عَجَبٍ أَنّا نَهيمُ بِقُربِكُم

وَمِن عَجَبٍ أَنّا نَهيمُ بِقُربِكُم

وَلا زَورَ إِلّا أَن نُلِمَّ بِكُم ذِكرا

وَلا زَورَ إِلّا أَن نُلِمَّ بِكُم ذِكرا

And it is a wonder that we pine for nearness to you,

And it is strange that we moan at your nearness

Yet have no visit but to call upon you in remembrance.

And no visit unless we mention you

نُؤَمِّلُ لُقياكُم وَكَيفَ مَطارُنا

نُؤَمِّلُ لُقياكُم وَكَيفَ مَطارُنا

بِأَجنِحَةٍ لا نَستَطيعُ لَها نَثرا

بِأَجنِحَةٍ لا نَستَطيعُ لَها نَثرا

We hope to meet you—but how can we take flight

We hope to meet you, and how can our flight be

With wings we cannot spread?

With wings we cannot scatter

فَلَو آبَ ريعانُ الصِبا وَلِقاؤُكُم

فَلَو آبَ ريعانُ الصِبا وَلِقاؤُكُم

إِذاً قَضَتِ الأَيّامُ حاجَتَنا الكُبرى

إِذاً قَضَتِ الأَيّامُ حاجَتَنا الكُبرى

If only youth's prime and meeting you would return,

So if the days of youth and meeting you come back

Then the days would fulfill our greatest wish.

Then the days would fulfill our greatest need

فَإِن لَم يَكُن إِلّا النَوى وَمَشيبنا

فَإِن لَم يَكُن إِلّا النَوى وَمَشيبنا

فَفي أَيِّ شَيءٍ بَعدُ نَستَعطِفُ الدَهرا

فَفي أَيِّ شَيءٍ بَعدُ نَستَعطِفُ الدَهرا

But if there is nothing but separation and our graying,

For if there is nothing left but purpose and our old age

Then for what should we still plead with Time?

Then in what can we seek grace from fate afterwards

فَهَل مِن فَتىً طَلقِ المُحَيّا مُحَبَّبٍ

فَهَل مِن فَتىً طَلقِ المُحَيّا مُحَبَّبٍ

يَطولُ تَمَنّي السَفرِ أَن يَصحَبَ السَفرا

يَطولُ تَمَنّي السَفرِ أَن يَصحَبَ السَفرا

Is there, then, a young man, open-faced and well-loved,

Is there a young man with a bright smile, endearing

Whom travelers keep longing to have accompany them?

Whose longing to travel grows to accompany travel

تُحَدِّثُكُم عَنّا أَسِرَّةُ وَجهِهِ

تُحَدِّثُكُم عَنّا أَسِرَّةُ وَجهِهِ

وَإِن لَم تَصِف إِلا التَهَلُّلَ وَالبِشرا

وَإِن لَم تَصِف إِلا التَهَلُّلَ وَالبِشرا

The lines of his face would tell you of us,

His face's traits would tell you about us

Even if they described only radiance and cheer.

Even if they describe nothing but joy and good tidings

فَلَو لَم تَكُن تُمسي مَشارِبُ خاطِري

فَلَو لَم تَكُن تُمسي مَشارِبُ خاطِري

كَما شاءَتِ الدُنيا مُعَكَّرَةٌ كُدرا

كَما شاءَتِ الدُنيا مُعَكَّرَةٌ كُدرا

If the wellsprings of my thought were not, by evening,

If my thoughts’ drinks do not become in the evening

As the world has willed, muddied and murky,

As the world desires, troubled and muddy

لَأَصدَرتُها عَنّي نَتائِجَ مُنجِبٍ

لَأَصدَرتُها عَنّي نَتائِجَ مُنجِبٍ

عِراباً كَما تَدري مُحَجَّلَةً غُرّا

عِراباً كَما تَدري مُحَجَّلَةً غُرّا

I would send them forth from me, offspring of a fine sire,

I would make them spring from me outcomes of significance

Purebred Arabians, as you know, white-stockinged and white-blazed.

Clouds as you know piled up and heavy

عَلى أَنَّني لا أَرتَضي الشِعرَ خُطَّةً

عَلى أَنَّني لا أَرتَضي الشِعرَ خُطَّةً

وَلَو صُيِّرَت خُضراً مَسارِحِيَ الغَبرا

وَلَو صُيِّرَت خُضراً مَسارِحِيَ الغَبرا

Yet I do not accept poetry as a profession,

Though I do not accept poetry as a plan

Even were my dusty pastures turned green.

Even if my dusty theaters were made green

كَفى ضِعةً بِالشِعرِ أَن لَستُ جالِباً

كَفى ضِعةً بِالشِعرِ أَن لَستُ جالِباً

إِلَيَّ بِهِ نَفعاً وَلا رافِعاً ضُرّا

إِلَيَّ بِهِ نَفعاً وَلا رافِعاً ضُرّا

It is abasement enough for poetry that I do not bring

It is enough deficiency in poetry that I am not

Myself benefit through it, nor ward off harm.

Bringing benefit or warding harm through it

يَقولُ أُناسٌ لَو رَفَعتَ قَصيدَةً

يَقولُ أُناسٌ لَو رَفَعتَ قَصيدَةً

لَأَدرَكتَ حَتماً في الزَمانِ بِها أَمرا

لَأَدرَكتَ حَتماً في الزَمانِ بِها أَمرا

Some people say: if you presented a poem,

Some people say if you composed a poem

You would surely achieve something through it in this age.

You would surely gain something in time through it

وَمِن دونِ هذا غَيرَةٌ جاهِلِيَّةٌ

وَمِن دونِ هذا غَيرَةٌ جاهِلِيَّةٌ

وَإِن هِيَ لَم تَلزَم فَقَد تَلزَمُ الحُرّا

وَإِن هِيَ لَم تَلزَم فَقَد تَلزَمُ الحُرّا

But in the way of this stands a pre-Islamic pride,

And without this, there is ignorant zeal

Which, though not binding, may yet bind the freeborn.

Though it does not obligate, it may obligate the free

أَلَم يَأتِهِم أَنّي وَأَدتُ بِحُكمِها

أَلَم يَأتِهِم أَنّي وَأَدتُ بِحُكمِها

بُنَيّاتِ صَدري قَبلَ أَن تَبرَحَ الصَدرا

بُنَيّاتِ صَدري قَبلَ أَن تَبرَحَ الصَدرا

Have they not heard that, by its decree, I buried alive

Did it not come to them that I suppressed by its rule

The little daughters of my breast before they left my breast?

The structures of my chest before they fled the chest

مَتى أَرسَلَت أَيدي المُلوكِ هِباتِها

مَتى أَرسَلَت أَيدي المُلوكِ هِباتِها

وَلَم يُوصِلوا جاهاً وَلَم يُجزِلوا ذُخرا

وَلَم يُوصِلوا جاهاً وَلَم يُجزِلوا ذُخرا

When have the hands of kings sent forth their gifts?

Whenever the hands of kings sent their gifts

And they have conferred no rank and bestowed no ample treasure.

And they did not convey status or bestow wealth

فَقَد سَرَّني أَنّي حَرَمتُ عُلاهُمُ

فَقَد سَرَّني أَنّي حَرَمتُ عُلاهُمُ

حُلىً مُحكَماتٍ تُخجِلُ الأَنجُمَ الزُهرا

حُلىً مُحكَماتٍ تُخجِلُ الأَنجُمَ الزُهرا

So I am glad that I have denied their eminence

I was pleased that I deprived their ascension

Finely wrought adornments that shame the shining stars.

Of sturdy jewels that shame the shining stars