1. There I pledged allegiance to the noble one,
And in that valley my warriors were struck down.

2. There are no days like our golden ones,
Though brief in lasting, they were few.

3. When ties of kinship in a home of bliss convened,
And a house of safety from fate's upheavals.

4. Nights that brought no nights of sorrow,
Nor divided among homes my tears.

5. Names that no separation made their visit rare,
Nor severed what remained of messages.

6. Oh! You came gently breathing the air of an orchard
And the twilight scents of waving myrtle.

7. So forlorn your eyes have wandered, lonely one,
That to a feeble mortal they are allowed.

8. O Asma, neither I pledged nor did the pledger
That your tent amid the empty plains should roam.

9. You know not what separation I have borne
And lamentation, while my tears like wine poured down.

10. He alighted peacefully, his tent curtains draped,
While the eyes of the cranes had fallen asleep.

11. When he comes my way I worry for him still,
Lest the glances of eyes ensnare him.

12. I am jealous that the morning breeze entice him
With casual coolness or trailing tresses.

13. Lightning's flash has wearied me in thick clouds
As white knives were stirred in the sun.

14. If longing kindles not in me a restless phantom
That peers from the horizon of setting stars,

15. Men are but misguided, bidding farewell,
Their eyes raining tears for one departed.

16. Are not these days as those now past?
Are we not like peoples of old?

17. We are led from this world to no lasting place,
And weep for this world to no avail.

18. No present we hope for but becomes the past,
No future we dread but proves the present.

19. Had the sun cast me down and crowned me king,
A slave, with the diadems of tyrants,

20. And had it lasted, not a moment would I stay,
How could it last when it left Bakr unsaved?

21. For a people who grew like Prince Muhammad,
Their excellence matched the rising sun.

22. In him they found enough and more,
Yet still we grieve the loss of that hero.

23. If we did not mourn those gone before,
Time would solace us from its misfortunes.

24. But while the likes of Muhammad remain,
The tribes all seek the folds of his garb.

25. In him you see his father in the eyes of the beholders
As he gently passes them by.

26. Kings it was who begot the like of him,
Most deserving, if the wise lament.

27. They bequeathed him glory, not their own,
And they are the best guardian of lands and mount.

28. Theirs are impregnable shields from their efforts
Warding them from every word and speaker.

29. They fear blame as though it were
The venom of adders in the hands of warriors.

30. Rightfully they fear it, for never
Were honors marred save by the valiant.

31. They are peerless in bounty and in piercing
With straight spear-thrusts the coats of mail.

32. None knows but Allah what they were created for
Or the treasures of virtue they inspired.

33. I see in them, from the signs of prophecy,
Miracles like moons in the shining pools.

34. Most sublime, may God raise your mention, O knight
When the steeds of war stamp and neigh.

35. No Indian swords can match you
Though aided by the reach of outstretched arms.

36. At peace you sheathe them, eyes welling,
Apart from the water of blades and crescents.

37. And unleash them, at your command,
To crack skulls and cleave stout chests.

38. No blame then follows you from the envious,
For the renown of enviers is worthless to you.

39. Oft we've seen the questioners and inquirers of old,
The surpassed one of a people and its superior.

40. All would ransom you from the scorner
To the resolute, deliverer, and steadfast hero.

41. The blood of your peers protects you from the wheedler
Clasping hands on a horn, sly and impudent.

42. Wedged in the ranks, rank after rank, whenever
Space spread between flanks and squadrons.

43. It cheers him, the tumult, and the rasping
Of the steeds in the breasts of the regiments delights him.

44. He who abandons the distant frontier, paths well-trodden,
A seat for a borough and house for a guest.

45. His first response to the impassioned,
His first riposte to the questioning cynic.

46. Your generosity flows from your right hand like five oceans
Pouring forth, though they are but five fingers.

47. A giving with no hint of reluctance that would spoil its purity,
Neither insisting on favors nor withholding.

48. You see the protected king in the raiment of a servant,
While the hopeful one wears the garb of aspiration.

49. It is as though we are his family, his kin,
Who gift us with those noble favors.

50. Circling with bright face, saying to custom,
"By custom pass and for custom act."

51. With open palm dividing sustenance,
And drawn sword aiding faith universally.

52. A prince whose every effort is devout service
To which every glory makes its prayer.

53. And everyday versifiers find in their craft
That no poem remains for a poet to create.