Songs of Longing

I wonder — shall we see that house again?
Do you suppose we'll go back to the way we were?
O time, what have you kept, what have you left —
what have you left to us, and what claim have you on us?

...Shall we return, do you say? I wonder, shall we return?
To watch the mist come flooding over the grape cluster,
and a flash from the eyes of the girl with the black eyes,
smiling her radiance at the dark-skinned lad.

...And on the rooftop terrace the west wind breathing —
we long to go back; how hard is the West!
To see Hanneh dressed in her rosy best
and Halloun wrapping herself in cashmere.

...We long for our village, for Lebanon,
for the field, for the watchman, for the valleys,
for the weeding-hook, for the shepherds,
for the spring, for Bou Hanna's tales.

...For the stone bench, for the feast-day fritters,
for our flocks, for our red-tiled houses,
for the dabke dance, for the mountain crooning,
for the red kerchief, for our home.