1. The souls of prey are the prices of glories,
When their cloaks are shaken by calamities.

2. And the faces of the swords smile,
Prolonging the weeping of men's lives.

3. He who loved glory and feared death,
Became, when disaster struck, downcast.

4. None won glory but the intrepid,
Broad of chest in narrow straits.

5. He who was sure good repute endures,
While all rule's pleasures pass away.

6. Therefore a soul aspired to religion's pillar,
Having learned from its Lord to seek perfection.

7. It aspired and found Him coolness for passions,
And fever's anguish like pure drink.

8. He clothed its honor in sturdy mail,
And made its body arrows' target.

9. It won Paradise for an abode,
And settled on its couches in its shades.

10. Leaving every heart preoccupied,
Every ardent breast aflame.

11. My soul, who melted my soul away,
And whose loss cost me wealth and means!

12. Before the day I regained it I did not know
That rapture is the new moon's sign.

13. They said, "You are smitten," but I said, "No!
Arrows do not fall upon mountains."

14. I did not know the firm spears turn to water
In battle's surge, made from pearl shells.

15. O rock of the groves, you prolonged my lament.
In you my sorrows and tears opened,

16. In you my patience and endurance failed.
You sacrificed your soul in seeking glories,

17. As you sacrificed it seeking pleasures.
You raced to battle ere the war-cry,

18. As you raced with bounty before requests.
You hardened your heart for death's fords,

19. The testing of heroes unarmored.
You wore over the garments of humiliation

20. A heart that enriches you without mail.
Your flank sways to meet the foe,

21. Swaying its redolence like the waving twig.
So you lived praised for your rare qualities,

22. And died praised for your fine traits.
O pillar of religion, how many pillars

23. Were threatened by your beauty's loss!
Your meadows after their joy are lonely;

24. Their current lights are now shadows.
The brave purebred steeds lament your loss,

25. The swords weep for you, and the blades.
Every angry warrior yearns for your right hand,

26. The sharp swords long for your left.
Does death make off with you while a tower?

27. Do the vile esteem you cheap when so dear?
And the courage of the white swords weakens,

28. And the resolve of long spears grows short.
No lance-butt was smashed in the charge,

29. No sword-edge blunted in the fight.
No steeds were roused in pursuit,

30. No men grappled in the fray.
The horses raised no din with their hooves,

31. No dust spun round the mountain-tops.
The non-fighters sleep in repose,

32. Imagining their actions dreams.
For their fortress no nests were plucked,

33. Though the low and high were leveled.
The valley of Hell, when they descended it,

34. Did not at evening prove their worst mischance.
I will weep, while I live, nor forget

35. Your early and recent deeds.
Had I been given my wish regarding you,

36. I would weep for you with blades and swords,
With every Indian scimitar

37. Dragging death like a file.
It would show you waves of death's flood,

38. While blood keeps it from rusting away.
A twenty year old reddish-brown steed,

39. Balanced in build, of excellent stock,
His upper parts shining with spearheads

40. Like fire at the edge of the helmets.
I abhor the soul that equals your bloodshed

41. Matching word with deed.
May the virtuous sultan wipe out

42. Misguidance's darkness with his face's light,
And make them flow, of the two clans,

43. To al-Hayjah, running like the herd.
The cavalry rouses them against the foe,

44. As if the ball were reminding them of the maidens.
In them is all the resolve of the angry heroes,

45. Pushing and fighting.
And when taking vengeance on them he heals

46. Souls not content with recompense.
And I know his resolve is a sharp sword,

47. Though requital is like the whetstone.