1. Who can tell Time what has cheered its manners,
Of a trait long past filled with wonder?

2. A man is given his share without cause,
While he who earned it loses his share,

3. We are ignorant of the good in this life, so we shun it,
Yet we see its harm, and avoid that,

4. Let no man despair that it will save him
What people think has caused his ruin,

5. A thing may cheer you, then go ill, and how often
A worthless man was titled honourable one day!

6. I saw the best of days was little, so I reckon
With God, there are other days I endure,

7. Injustice was renewed against the righteous man, is there
A free man who would sell or give away equity?

8. I have with me an eraser, when
The calumny of a people has etched its injuries,

9. And I have of the two, one, never
The honour of the noble, or loss of it,

10. The best I chose, or was chosen for me,
Is the consent of a noble who I fear his wrath,

11. And a friend, gone with his sulkiness,
Who turned away with it while I sought him,

12. He lays in wait for me: if I join him, the
Rude one is bored, and I long when I avoid him,

13. So I know not which gives me more misery,
His wretched company or his separation,

14. I left him supporting his own passions
Against mine in it, until his era ended,

15. My brother shunned me in resentment, showing
Fortitude, while sick with love for it and melted by it,

16. So he distinguished between the brothers - my plight and from
The oppressors of a dark night their locks distinguished them,

17. And my equipment against worries if they knocked
Is to tether that steed or fetter it,

18. A loathsome setback befell us
And Time's epochs, cheap are its bendings,

19. Has an exile in Iraq a refuge
With the chief of Iraq, hoping for it?

20. And they who slumbered in laziness
It tested them, so the unlawful earnings condemned their owner,

21. They were like the thorns of qatād, its shepherd is angered
And its harvester refuses to reap it,

22. I do not heed or favour a man
For diverse traits, the noblest of them his manners,

23. Nor do I account a youth by lineage
Until his actions show his lineage,

24. The like of the son of Bistaam, whose beginnings were
Noble, then his outcome was perfected,

25. The sphere of virtues goes not around
Except its pole matches its deeds,

26. It is willingly led by him when
Those rivals throng, pulling him,

27. People compete for him, happiest of them
He who his lineage specifically includes him,

28. His success makes the foreigners of towns joyous
While his loss brings sadness to the Arabs,

29. Who earnestly seeks a favor
His habit in seeking it becomes his habit,

30. How many set out freely while their mounts went
Slowly seeking rights, following it,

31. His open hands are counted in his abundance
As his enemy's hands, or like them in generosity,

32. Wealth - when praise spills from it - becomes
Spoils for its victor and its pillager,

33. And while problems lead the way,
The right path is facilitated, its knots untied,

34. Allow it latitude, peaceful its procrastination
In confusing affairs, capacious its gate,

35. As if its haste is its composure,
Or the resolve of one startled, or its playing is its amusement,

36. The furthest regions are grasped by a feaster
Who extracts the pearls then imbibes it,

37. It sings the chant of armies seeking
Booty when its standards were joined,

38. It remained, and the workers remained, wherever they were,
Present for what they arranged though absent from it,

39. One who leads his command though still a teenager,
And a venerable one succeeds him in it from his task,

40. So no discourse is intended for the Sultan
Unless taken gently, seizing its forelock,

41. Its writers' pens are directed
To the opinion he chooses and selects,

42. It carries for them what they cannot do,
Sufficient substitutes that ease their burden,

43. Awaited is its permission, though the soul of one quick and impatient,
And its expectation prolonged, tires,

44. If it appears to the eyes, it turns them
Radiant, pleasing them its flare,

45. And if the veil comes beneath it, still
Its blessings are not hidden from them by its veils,

46. Glory takes it by storm from its sides
As water takes its flowing freely by storm, its pouring,

47. If it spoke or I spoke, my lies were not hidden
In preserving a coveted thing, nor were its lies,

48. Or if we raced for rewards, so my poetry will not
Vanish frivolously, nor will its gold,

49. Prosperity follows its inclination,
As grass follows a downpour from a cloudburst,