تَكَلَّفَlabored at مَدحُpraising الشَيبِgray hair عِنديin my presence مُعَمِّرٌMuʿammar
تَكَلَّفَ مَدحُ الشَيبِ عِندي مُعَمِّرٌ
وَهَلand does يَمدَحَنَّever praise الشَيبَgray hair إِلّاexcept تَكَلُّفاwith forced effort
وَهَل يَمدَحَنَّ الشَيبَ إِلّا تَكَلُّفا
Muʿammar strained to praise gray hair in my presence.
The praise of old age was pretentious for me, an old man,
And does anyone praise gray hair except by forcing himself?
And does anyone praise old age except out of pretense?
فَقُلتُso I said اِنظُرَنّيconsider for me أَوَّلاًa beginning مِنهُof it مُؤلِماًpainful
فَقُلتُ اِنظُرَنّي أَوَّلاً مِنهُ مُؤلِماً
لِقَلبِto the heart of فَتىa young man أَوor آخِراًan ending مِنهُof it مُتلَفاfatal
لِقَلبِ فَتى أَو آخِراً مِنهُ مُتلَفا
So I said, 'Consider for me its onset, painful
So I said, “Look at it hurting the heart of a young man first,
to a young man's heart, or its ending, fatal.'
Or look at it in the end, unraveling him.”
تَصَرَّمَelapsed مِنfrom عُمريmy life ثَلاثونَthirty حُجَّةًyears
تَصَرَّمَ مِن عُمري ثَلاثونَ حُجَّةً
لَبِستُI wore بِهاduring them ثَوبَthe robe of الشَبابِyouth مُطَرِفاas a richly bordered mantle
لَبِستُ بِها ثَوبَ الشَبابِ مُطَرِفا
Thirty years of my life have passed away,
Thirty pilgrimages of my life grew old.
during which I wore youth's robe, a richly bordered mantle.
I wore with them the garb of youth, magnificent.
شَبابٌyouth أَطارَdrove away الوَجدَpassion عَنّيfrom me غِيابُهُits absence
شَبابٌ أَطارَ الوَجدَ عَنّي غِيابُهُ
وَصَرفُand the vicissitudes of زَمانٍtime لَمdid not أَجِدI find عَنهُfrom it مَصرِفاan escape
وَصَرفُ زَمانٍ لَم أَجِد عَنهُ مَصرِفا
Youth—its absence drove passion from me,
A youth whose absence took away my passion,
as did time's vicissitudes, from which I found no escape.
And the passing of a time for which I found no averter.
أَقَمتُI set upright بِهِthrough it صَدرَthe breast of السُرورِjoy فَلَمyet did not يَزَلcease
أَقَمتُ بِهِ صَدرَ السُرورِ فَلَم يَزَل
بِهِupon it الشَيبُgray hair حَتّىuntil رَدَّهُturned it مُتَحَنِّفاbent awry
بِهِ الشَيبُ حَتّى رَدَّهُ مُتَحَنِّفا
With it I set joy's breast upright; yet still
With it I set up in my heart the pillar of happiness,
gray hair worked upon it until it bent it awry.
Until old age persistently turned it away.
فَطِرso fly بِجَناحِon the wing of اللَهوِpleasure فيin زَمَنِthe season of الصِباyouth
فَطِر بِجَناحِ اللَهوِ في زَمَنِ الصِبا
فَأَخلِقfor how likely بِهِfor it إِنif شِئتَyou wish أَنto يَتَحَيَّفاwear away
فَأَخلِق بِهِ إِن شِئتَ أَن يَتَحَيَّفا
So fly on pleasure's wing in the season of youth,
So roam freely in the era of youth,
for how likely it is, if you will, to wear away!
And if you wish, make of it a refined nature.
تَناوَلَreached وَخطُthe sprinkling of الشَيبِgray hair أَطرافَthe edges of عارِضيmy cheek
تَناوَلَ وَخطُ الشَيبِ أَطرافَ عارِضي
فَأَصبَحَand it became لَيلاًa night بِالصَباحِwith dawn مُشَنَّفاadorned with earrings
فَأَصبَحَ لَيلاً بِالصَباحِ مُشَنَّفا
A sprinkling of gray reached the edges of my cheek,
And the line of old age grabbed the edges of my cheek,
and it became a night with dawn for earrings.
So it woke up in the morning, cloven.
Sol 6.1