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The night is hushed,
And the dreams hide in silence.
The moon is rising
She has eyes to watch the day.
Come, daughter of the fields,
And let us go
Into the vineyards
Where the lovers meet.
For it may be
That there we, too, may quench
With love's good vintage
The drouth of our desire.
Hearken, the nightingale
Pours forth his song
Into the valleys
Which the hills have filled
With the green scent of mint.
Fear not beloved,
The stars will keep the secret of our meeting,
And the soft mist of night
Veil our embrace.
Fear not
The young bride of the djinns
In her enchanted cave
Lies sleeping, drunk with love,
And well-nigh hidden
From the houri's eyes.
And even should the king of the djinns pass by,
Then love will turn him back.
For is he not a lover as I am,
And shall he disclose
That which his own heart suffers?
And the dreams hide in silence.
The moon is rising
She has eyes to watch the day.
Come, daughter of the fields,
And let us go
Into the vineyards
Where the lovers meet.
For it may be
That there we, too, may quench
With love's good vintage
The drouth of our desire.
Hearken, the nightingale
Pours forth his song
Into the valleys
Which the hills have filled
With the green scent of mint.
Fear not beloved,
The stars will keep the secret of our meeting,
And the soft mist of night
Veil our embrace.
Fear not
The young bride of the djinns
In her enchanted cave
Lies sleeping, drunk with love,
And well-nigh hidden
From the houri's eyes.
And even should the king of the djinns pass by,
Then love will turn him back.
For is he not a lover as I am,
And shall he disclose
That which his own heart suffers?
شب در سکون است
و رویاها در سکوت مخفی.
ماه
با چشمانی برای دیدن روز .
نمودار میشود
بیا، دختر مزارع،
بیا برویم
به تاکستانها
محل قرار عشاق.
چرا که ما نیز
شاید عطش آرزوهایمان را
با حاصل زیبای عشق
فرونشانیم
گوش فرا ده
به بلبل که نغمه سرائی میکند
در دره هائی که
پشته هایش مملو است از
رایحه ی نعنان تازه.
معشوقه ی من نهراس
ستارگان راز دیدارمان را فاش نخواهند ساخت
و مه لطیف در اغوش گرفتنمان را
مستور خواهد ساخت
نهراس
عروس جوان
در غار افسون شده اش
آرمیده ست، مست از عشق
و دور از چشمان حوری
و حتی گر پادشاه از آنجا گذر کند
وی را عشق باز خواهد گرداند.
آیا او به اندازه ی من دلداده نیست
و خواهد آشکار کرد
آنچه قلبش را به درد آورده است؟
Khalil Gibran
منبع:motarjemin.blogfa.com