Lebanon (A Poem)

It neighbors the stars and occupies the clouds —
a mountain made ready as a gate to Paradise.
The sun bathes in the parting of its hair,
and when she sets, it is by compulsion and in exile.
She carries light to the world, having
borrowed her dye from Lebanon's eyelid.
The grape cluster laughs upon its flanks,
the apples glory, and Kawthar melts away.
The cooing birds sang it their love,
and the great trees echoed them in plaintive song and reproach.
Dawn shows itself upon its hills,
golden-trained, its mantle wet with dew.
The dews drip down from its side,
fragrant with myrtle, wormwood, and sweet malab.
O brother of the lights, giver of radiance,
sweet are your horizons, your water, your highlands!
Your proud cedar is the Lote Tree of the Utmost Bound;
I fancied it a resting place in the Garden of Refuge.
Maidens wander in its shades,
languid of glance, comely and loving;
their cupbearer goes round with the cups, and
desires have been showered upon the pourer.

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The grotto of Qadisha — in its depths
the generations have wandered, and history has roamed.
O watercourse of the lofty twilight, O
marvel to the eyes, rugged steeps and mountain passes!
Before the universe and the world you lay
upon the Creator's palm, still a wasteland.
Temple of majesty and enchantment: were
a sinner to approach it in his pride, he would repent.
This sweet stream ran down the slope
from the springs of the cedars and poured itself out in torrents.

Tongues of [...]
Hills [...]
As if [...]
In the mouth of [...]
Most fertile [...]
The flanks of [...]
Kissed by the [...]
And it came to rest [...]
He fancied it [...]
In the white [...]
Had he seen it [...]
He would have barred the door of [...]

O brother of [...]
And alighting place of [...]
You were [...]
An example that [...]
[...]
Where the people meet [...]
However [...]
He gazed [...]

O villages of [...]
You tore away from [...]
Fulfilled [...]
The [...] flutters
You rose [...]
Heights of [...]
Refuge of the [...]
And blazed with fury [...]
With the [...] blood
And upon the [...]

[...] the basin, and from
[...] fathers
[...] the sky
[...] sins
[...] the roses in
[...] and youth
[...] the blaze of forenoon
[...] mist spread abroad
[...] shining bright
[...] a blazing, surging flood
[...] in his ordeal
[...] lets loose a raven

[...] the crown of the hills
[...] and seekers
[...] a wide and open plain
[...] a forest for lions
[...] Lebanon a brother
[...] and companions
[...] his gaze within it
[...] free and spacious

[...] the bend
[...] the veil
[...] in it an example
[...] and turmoil
[...] the air toward
[...] riders
[...] the glory of the sanctuary
[...] necks
[...] O our cedar

Independence is nothing but a gift
we won as recompense by the blood of our forefathers —
the shame of the grandsons, if they go astray, and if
they turn their history to scattered dust.
The open spring is but a stirring
the poet felt, and its expanses turned green;
he traced roses upon the desert, and
in the scorch of the burning sands, cool moist shade.
In it lovers take their delight whenever
the world grows narrow and deals them torment.
Whoever finds his days sunk in darkness
seeks the light, though it gleam deceiving.
Hopes surge in the young man's breast,
and when they run dry, he sings of them falsely.

O mountains of the cedars, O sister of heaven,
death in you is sweet, after life there was sweet.
Memory has pierced deep into my heart, and
drawn the veil back from the depths of my dreams.
The joys of yesterday have turned to a funeral
that stifles the breath with grief and gloom.
For red tears I have bartered love,
and with the tears of life I have shrouded the rebab.
A page of life's freshness has folded shut,
which time's serenity used to recite like a book;
a flower in the garden of love grew heady
and faded into memory's unseen, a mirage.
The red has ebbed away in the cup, and what
good is it to the drinker if he meets only froth?
That singing nightingale has gone hoarse; the
feathers have flown from him, and the poet has gone gray.
Had I been granted there but one hour of joy,
I would have kissed the very rock, or kissed the dust.