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