The Horsewoman of Yarmouk

Awake, O beautiful horsewoman,
For the wedding processions of dawn are coming toward the mountains of Yarmouk,
Like a procession of light and fire cleaving the spring of the mountains;
It quickened its pace, then descended from them into the gorge —
The gorge of Yarmouk — there to hold its weddings.

Awake, O daughter of the desert, for spring is ardent in Yarmouk,
Rising green and lush from the earth;
I saw the sun caressing it, and the breezes crooning to it,

It too is fragrant as the arar of Najd,
And laden with memories like the east wind of Najd.

But no. Nothing wakes you but the clash of swords,
And nothing stirs you but great dreams!
There is nothing in the gentle dreams of maidens to rouse from you more than a faint smile:
For those in whose hearts the struggle lives — far be it that anything else should captivate them;
And dawn and spring have no effect upon you save in the measure that they stand for struggle and freedom.

Awake, then! For I have seen the banners fluttering;
I saw them in al-Fayha, radiant, striving toward the stars,
And I saw them upon the Cedars, embracing the eagles...
The sight of them sent a tremor through the soul, and hope into the heart,
And at that I remembered you — so awake!

But let your lips smile, and let your eyes shed tears, O guardian of Yarmouk!
Let your lips smile with joy for fighters who have won freedom...
Set upon their heads wreaths of laurel, for none hallow the struggle but they who struggle;
And let your eyes weep over fighters who received no recompense,
And whisper into their hearts the consolation that the struggle is recompense enough!...

I saw you in the silvery night, like a faithful watchman making the rounds of the reaches of Yarmouk,
And there was nothing more wondrous than your slender figure and your veiled face,
In your poised seat upon the noble white steed...
The solitude around you was clamorous, teeming with the fragrance of the luminous past,
And the silence was deep, brimming with the echo of bygone years.

Everything around you longed for you, and held you sacred:
The lofty, knowing stars spoke to you,
The deep water of the river repeated your story,
And the mountains, firm-rooted, towering like giants, awaited your commands...
And when dawn broke, you vanished with the silent stars into an enchanted cave!

But no! Nothing of all this happened;
You are only a beautiful phantom my imagination wove,
Casting upon it the splendor and majesty of phantoms;
For you sleep in a place I cannot see,
And nothing remains of you but a luminous, hallowed memory
That lives in the depths of our hearts, setting them aflame whenever the roads grow rough before us...

So by God, do not awake, O horsewoman of Yarmouk!
Sleep on in peace and quiet,
Let the glistening dews refresh your ancient resting place,
And let the beautiful flowers perfume your crumbling grave.
Better for you not to awake,
Lest you be terrified by what surrounds Yarmouk today!...