أَلاَ أيُّها المولَى الذِي حُسْنُ خَطِّهِ

أَلاَ أيُّها المولَى الذِي حُسْنُ خَطِّهِ

غَدَا وهوَ في جِسْمِ القَصَائِدِ رُوحُ

غَدَا وهوَ في جِسْمِ القَصَائِدِ رُوحُ

Lo, O king, the beauty of whose penmanship

O master, the beauty of whose handwriting

Has become a soul within the body of poems—

Has become a soul within the body of poems.

أَمِنْتُ على شِعرِي بخطِّكَ إذ غَدَا

أَمِنْتُ على شِعرِي بخطِّكَ إذ غَدَا

يحسِّنُ وَجْهَ الشِّعرِ وهو قَبيحُ

يحسِّنُ وَجْهَ الشِّعرِ وهو قَبيحُ

I rest secure about my verse through your penmanship, since it has come

I felt my poetry safe with your handwriting, since it came

To beautify poetry’s face, even when it is ugly.

To beautify the face of verse, though it is ugly.