مَرَضي مِن مَريضَةِ الأَجفانِ

My illness stems from the languid eyelids of my beloved—console me with her memory, oh console me.

The turtledoves fluttered through the gardens and wailed; the grief of these pigeons mirrors what afflicts me.

By my life, a playful young girl who glides gracefully, stepping among beauties from behind the curtained chambers.

She appeared to my physical sight as a sun, and when she set, she rose brightly on the horizon of my inner heart.

Oh ruined campsites at Ramah, how many women with swelling breasts and radiant faces you once beheld.

By my life, and by my own soul, a cherished gazelle who grazes safely right between my ribs.

The fire that surrounds her is no hazard, for it is pure light; thus does light quench burning fires.

Oh my two companions, turn aside your riding mounts so I may see the trace of her abode with my own eyes.

And when you reach the dwelling place, dismount; and right there, my friends, weep for me.

Pause with me briefly over the ruins so we may weep together—or rather, let me weep alone for what has struck me.

Love is an archer who shoots me without arrows; love is a slayer who kills me without a spear.

Let me know when I weep beside her, that you will aid me in my weeping, truly aid me.

And recite to me the tales of Hind and Lubna, and Sulayma, Zaynab, and 'Anan.

Then name Zayd from Hajir and Zarud, bringing news from the pastures where the gazelles roam.

Lament me using the verse of Qays and Layla, and Mayy, and the afflicted Ghaylan.

My longing has grown long for a young girl gifted in prose and verse, eloquence and public speech.

From the daughters of kings, from a Persian home, hailing from the most noble of lands, Isfahan.

She is a daughter of Iraq, the daughter of my master, while I am her opposite, scion of Yemen.

Have you seen, my masters, or ever heard that two opposites could ever come together?

If you could see us at Ramah, passing back and forth cups of love without using our fingers.

While love between us drives a discourse, sweet and intoxicating, without the use of a tongue.

You would witness something that stuns the intellect: Yemen and Iraq locked in an embrace.

False is the poet who spoke before me, and he has pelted me with the stones of his own intellect.

Oh you who would marry the Pleiades to Canopus, by your life in God, how can the two ever meet?

She is Levantine whenever she begins to pour, while Canopus is distinctly southern whenever it appears.