1. My soul, how patient it has been
Had it sought aught but the sublime, it would have protested

2. When lasting glory was recalled, it looked about
With the eyes of a bereft mother, and was gentle

3. Would that despair's onslaught had spared its hopes
Or that its sunset had bent, or it had attained its wishes

4. Were it not for the motives of Umayyad determination
Reminding it of its forebears, it would have been tranquil

5. It yearns for a battle I plunge into its depths
With a troop that rivals the lances in their sharp tips

6. And on a day, somber, straitened, whose sides
Laugh at it beneath the horse armor, my tongues

7. And when it saw that fortune betrayed it
It folded its hand from what it wished and thought

8. It did not aim for humiliation when the nights grew turbulent
So contentment is my armor