Gleanings from the Arab Women Poets

By Umm al-Dahhak al-Muharibiyya:

I asked the lovers who had borne
the torments of this love in ages past,

And said to them: what drives love out, once
it has lodged between the ribs and the breast?

They said: love's cure is another love that removes it,
or a long absence upon parting,

Or despair, until the soul forgets
what it had hoped for — and despair is an aid to patience.

And also by her:

I see that love does not perish; it did not pass over the first ones
who lived in ages gone by,

And every one of them fancied it filled
his whole heart — so they tell it in verse.

Love is but the hearing of an ear, and a glance,
and the heart's yearning at some word, some mention;

And were it anything else in passion,
it would wear a man away with ardor, though he were made of rock.

By 'Ashraqa al-Muharibiyya:

I raced with the lovers on passion's course,
outstripped them all, and came in at my ease;

The lovers have put on no robes of passion,
nor cast any off, but the garments I had worn threadbare;

Nor have they ever drunk a cup of love,
bitter or sweet, but their drink was what I left behind.

By Layla al-'Amiriyya:

Majnun was never in any state
but that I was always as he was;
Yet he divulged the secret of his passion,
while I have melted away in concealment.

And also by her:

The madman of 'Amir proclaimed his passion,
and I hid mine, and died of my longing;
So if, on the Day of Resurrection, the cry goes up:
'Who was slain by love?' — I shall step forward alone!

By Umm Hamada al-Hamdaniyya:

I complained to her of love. She said: You are lying to me —
do I not see your frame still clothed in flesh?
Wait, rather, till longing and passion have worn
your bones away, till they show through plainly,
And the whisperings of love's anguish take hold of you,
and you fall dumb, unable to answer him who calls.

By Hafsa bint al-Hajj al-Rakuniyya:

Shall I come to you, or will you come? For my heart
inclines forever toward whatever you desire;
My mouth is a spring of sweet, pure water,
and the tresses of my hair a shading shade;
And I have hoped that you will be thirsty and sun-scorched
when the hour of the noonday rest brings me to you —
So hasten your answer: it is no graceful thing,
O Jamil, to refuse your Buthayna!