ألا رُبَّ يومٍ بجرجانَ أرعنٍ

ألا رُبَّ يومٍ بجرجانَ أرعنٍ

ضحِكْتُ له من خَرْقِهِ أتعجَّبُ

ضحِكْتُ له من خَرْقِهِ أتعجَّبُ

Ah, many a wayward day in Jurjan—

How many a day with fickle joy have I spent,

I laughed at it, marveling at its folly.

Laughing at its inconsistency, wondering.

وأخشى على نفسي اختلافَ هوائِهِ

وأخشى على نفسي اختلافَ هوائِهِ

وما للفتى ممَّا قضَى مهرَبُ

وما للفتى ممَّا قضَى مهرَبُ

And I fear for myself the changes in its weather,

But I fear the fickleness of its breezes,

yet a man has no escape from what is decreed.

For man is helpless before what is foreordained.

وما خيرُ يومٍ أخرقٍ متلوِّنٍ

وما خيرُ يومٍ أخرقٍ متلوِّنٍ

ببردٍ وحرٍّ بعدَهُ يتلهَّبُ

ببردٍ وحرٍّ بعدَهُ يتلهَّبُ

And what good is a foolish, fickle day,

No happy day of shifting hues comes to pass

with cold, then heat that blazes after it?

Without cold and heat swiftly following each other.

فأوَّلُهُ للفَرْوِ والجمرِ مِثْقَبُ

فأوَّلُهُ للفَرْوِ والجمرِ مِثْقَبُ

وآخِرُهُ للثلجِ والخَيْشِ يُضْرَبُ

وآخِرُهُ للثلجِ والخَيْشِ يُضْرَبُ

Its beginning is for furs, with coals kindled,

Its beginning is pierced with ice and embers,

and its end for snow, with coarse cloth hung up.

Its end is cloaked with frost and burning thirst.