1. When sadness overwhelms and lethargy touches him,
He clings to the ribs with the embers of his passion,

2. My tears flow copiously and my lament has turned grey,
Between Warqah and Al-Hima there still remains a house,

3. He goes to its ruins, morning or evening,
When you look, the white gazelle dances with its glance,

4. And when it travels, the sun rises from its face,
Mimicking the she-camel’s gait and slim at the waist,

5. Higher up slender, the rest firm,
Like a garden dripping dew from its freshness,

6. In the morning the cheek imbibes from the stream of its tears,
At parting it stretched out fingers,

7. That matched my blood in color and my skin from its tears,
I brought my forearms close for a journey,

8. With it jewels are shed and rain is sought.
And my friends when they mounted their racing steeds,

9. Called out what the soil urges from its affection.
They say why do you ride in the fading dusk,

10. Seeking wealth while toil concerns you not poverty.
I said do not despair for I

11. Will keep trying as long as my sword is sharp,
I have not turned the sad one back though his breath

12. Pants like sparks bursting forth from collision of flint.
For me many graces for relieving religion,

13. That sever the neck veins before it exertion.
And he who possessed the hoped for lightning, his gifts

14. A freshness that thunder does not monitor without its breeze.
When you visit him and weakness burns his fang,

15. He turns it away from me though it gnashes,
Savagery prevails and his day is always

16. Hostile, possessing the wrath of the sheathed hero’s sword,
A short man brings them near what they intend,

17. Equalizing proximity and distance before it.
From coarse villages he left it for him,

18. A father when he entrusted him the time of calamity.
When spring arrives it does not tremble

19. With joy or fresh shoots or the tufted greenery,
The muddy partridge fears losing its way in it,

20. And complains of its harshness in its plains the dew.