وَزْن Wazn
سلوا كؤوس الطلا هل لامست فاها
Ask the goblets of pure wine if they touched her mouthذكاء اصطناعي AI
افتح في القارئ Open in reader →الخلاصة Summary
هذا النص بالإنجليزية فقط — لا تتوفر لدينا نسخة عربية منه.
Ahmed Shawqi composed this poem as a gift for Umm Kulthum, intending it as a gesture of affection and a playful overture involving wine, which she refused due to her piety. Set within the sophisticated literary circles of modern Egypt where the poet reigned as the Prince of Poets, the poem balances courtly romance with a delicate personal dynamic between the master writer and the legendary vocalist.
الخلاصة مُولّدة بالذكاء الاصطناعي وقد تخطئ This summary is AI-generated and may contain mistakes.
السياق The story
نظم أحمد شوقي هذه القصيدة هدية لأم كلثوم وغنتها لاحقاً، حيث قدمها بنفسه صباح الليلة التي غنت فيها أم كلثوم في حفل مبايعته بإمارة الشعر. وذكر بعضهم أن شوقي كان يريد منها أن تشرب معه كأساً فأبت وغضب وغضبت ثم انتهت القصة حتى مات، وكان يقدرها جداً لأنها أديبة تفهم ما تغني وتحفظ القرآن ولا تشرب الخمر.
المصدر: الموسوعة الشعرية — دائرة الثقافة والسياحة، أبوظبي Source: The Poetry Encyclopedia — Department of Culture and Tourism, Abu Dhabi
القصة مُستخلصة من المصدر بالذكاء الاصطناعي وقد تخطئ This story was extracted from the source by AI and may contain mistakes.
النص Poem text
Ask the goblets of pure wine if they touched her mouth, and question the sparkling vintage if it grazed her teeth.
She spent the night in the garden, pouring for me a clear draught; neither the aged wine nor the roses possessed her fragrance.
What harm would it be if I made her lips my drinking cups, and if she poured for me from the pure warmth of her passion?
Slender like the ban-tree, the breeze winds around her, and her curving sides draw the gaze of the birds beneath her patterned garments.
Her speech is pure magic, though not mere melody; it flowed across the mouth of David and he sang it.
O dove of the thickets, who is it that mirrors your grief, and who from behind the darkness of night whispers to you in longing?
She stretched out to me a startled, proud neck through the night, and cast a listening ear upon which her eyes grew bewildered.
Longing for her loved ones returned to her, so she stirred, weeping and calling out at times with her complaints.
O neighbor of the thicket, the days of passionate love have vanished like a dream; oh, the days of passionate love are gone.
الترجمات الإنجليزية مُولّدة بالذكاء الاصطناعي وقد تخطئ English translations are AI-generated and may contain mistakes.