Between Sea and Mountain
Juhaynah Tarabulsi

Nature is drunk with joy!

And the sea lies asleep!

The lofty blue mountains rise on my left, and upon their shoulders the massive edifices stand.

And thousands of leaden rocks lie scattered over the stretch of ground that holds me.

Farther off I see the tops of the tender trees swaying right and left!

And a gentle bird whose warbling rises from time to time as it calls its mate to its side!

And farther still, proud mountains can be seen,

which the clouds have clothed in a majestic scarf.

And across the breadth of the sea's horizon a splendid crimson sash has appeared, sending ease into the soul.

Nor was it long before the Gothic bell struck my ear, ringing its steady, measured peals.

And when night set in in earnest, its musical piping began its familiar tune, and drowsiness courted my eyelids!

The breezes were tickling the grasses, which thrilled and swayed to and fro!

And a flock of sheep was moving along slowly and meekly, returning to its fold.

And we—the company—were contemplating these sights, seized by their splendor.

Our souls grew humble, and we glorified the Creator of this beauty.

And when the hour struck for our return to the world of bounds and fetters... our souls grieved!

For we wished to remain in the arms of captivating nature—

there where true beauty is, drawn from the presence of God Almighty, exalted be His majesty!...

Avowal
Riyad al-Azhari
What avowal, what echo of songs
do you long to have poured out from my wine-jars?
What color do your two eyes crave?
For you I shall gather it from the radiance of colors!
And desire the melody—I shall invent you a melody
that scatters warmth across the whole reach of its ringing...
My heart is brimful of the breathings of love;
how their stifling has grieved the heart, and grieved me.
I ask poetry to speak them out, and it falters,
falling short of pouring forth the longings and the tenderness.
For you there are, in my soul, tales of love,
of ardor, of yearning, and of hopes;
and in my breast, heaps of an ancient passion
whose like no pair of lips has ever sung;
and in my eyes there is, of your beauty, a kohl
that plants light in the visions of my lids.
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