ما تَسُرُّ الأيَّامُ إلا لِتُحزِن

ما تَسُرُّ الأيَّامُ إلا لِتُحزِن

وأراها لَيسَت تُسِيء فتُحسِن

وأراها لَيسَت تُسِيء فتُحسِن

Days bring joy only so that they may bring sorrow,

The days bring joy only to bring sorrow.

and I see that they do not wrong, then make amends.

And I see they never do harm and then do good.

ليتها تلزَمُ القِياسَ وهَيها

ليتها تلزَمُ القِياسَ وهَيها

ت قياسُ الأيَّام لَيس بِمُمكِن

ت قياسُ الأيَّام لَيس بِمُمكِن

Would that they kept to a measured course—but far from it:

If only they followed a rule—but alas,

the course of days can never be measured.

Applying a rule to the days is impossible.

والعَطايا المحسَّناتُ بأثوا

والعَطايا المحسَّناتُ بأثوا

بِ السَّجايا يَسَلنَ أينَ المحسِّن

بِ السَّجايا يَسَلنَ أينَ المحسِّن

And gifts, adorned in robes—

And the gifts, adorned in robes

of noble qualities, ask: “Where is the benefactor?”

Of noble qualities, ask, “Where is the benefactor?”

عدنَ فاخلعنَ ما عَليكنَّ كم يُع

عدنَ فاخلعنَ ما عَليكنَّ كم يُع

جِمُ عنكُنَّ أمرَه وهوَ بَيِّن

جِمُ عنكُنَّ أمرَه وهوَ بَيِّن

Return, then cast off what you wear: how long will—

Return, then cast off what you wear! How long will he conceal

his fate remain obscure to you, when it is plain?

His fate from you, though it is plain?

وسمعتُ الدَّاعي بحيّ عَلى الجُو

وسمعتُ الدَّاعي بحيّ عَلى الجُو

دِ كَما كانَ في حَياتِكَ يُعلِن

دِ كَما كانَ في حَياتِكَ يُعلِن

I heard the caller proclaim, “Come to gener—

And I heard the caller cry, “Come to generosity!”

osity!” just as he proclaimed it during your life.

As he used to proclaim in your lifetime.

ليتَ شِعري وقد تَولَّى المُصَل

ليتَ شِعري وقد تَولَّى المُصَل

لونَ جَميعاً لمَن يقولُ المُؤَذِّن

لونَ جَميعاً لمَن يقولُ المُؤَذِّن

Would that I knew—now that all those at prayer have—

Would that I knew—now that the worshippers have turned away,

departed—to whom the muezzin is calling.

All of them—to whom the muezzin calls!

لَوعةٌ يا بَني حُميدٍ أراها

لَوعةٌ يا بَني حُميدٍ أراها

مالَها في سِوىَ التَّأسِّي مُسَكِّن

مالَها في سِوىَ التَّأسِّي مُسَكِّن

There is a burning grief, O sons of Humayd, which I see—

A burning grief, O sons of Humayd—I see

nothing but consolation can soothe.

No balm for it except the solace of shared sorrow.

سكنَت سنَّةُ الجُزافِ من المَو

سكنَت سنَّةُ الجُزافِ من المَو

تِ عَلى ما أرى وصارَ يُعيِّن

تِ عَلى ما أرى وصارَ يُعيِّن

Death’s habit of striking at random has ceased—

Death's habit of striking at random has ceased,

so it seems to me—and it has begun to choose.

As I see it; now it singles people out.