إِرجَع إِلى السِنِّ فَاِنظُر ما تَقادُمُها

إِرجَع إِلى السِنِّ فَاِنظُر ما تَقادُمُها

فَاِحكُم عَلَيهِ وَلا تَحكُم عَلى الشَعَرِ

فَاِحكُم عَلَيهِ وَلا تَحكُم عَلى الشَعَرِ

Look to age, and see how far it has advanced;

Return to my age and see how far it has reached,

then judge by it, and do not judge by hair.

Then judge it, and do not judge poetry.

فَكَم ثَلاثينَ حَولاً شَيَّبَت وَمَضَت

فَكَم ثَلاثينَ حَولاً شَيَّبَت وَمَضَت

سُتّونَ وَالشَيبُ فيها غَيرُ مُستَعَرِ

سُتّونَ وَالشَيبُ فيها غَيرُ مُستَعَرِ

For many a thirty-year span has brought gray hair, while there have passed

For how many thirty years have turned white and passed,

sixty years, with gray hair still unkindled.

Sixty, and the whiteness in it is not borrowed.

وَلَيسَ ذَلِكَ إِلّا صِبغَةٌ جُعِلَت

وَلَيسَ ذَلِكَ إِلّا صِبغَةٌ جُعِلَت

طَبعاً وَإِن قيلَ شابَ الرَأسُ لِلذُعُرِ

طَبعاً وَإِن قيلَ شابَ الرَأسُ لِلذُعُرِ

And that is nothing but a coloring made

That is only a color made

innate, though it is said the head turns gray from fright.

A nature, though it is said the head turned white with fright,

تَمضي الحَياةُ وَما لي إِثرَها أَسَفٌ

تَمضي الحَياةُ وَما لي إِثرَها أَسَفٌ

وَدَدتُ أَنَّ مُعيرَ العَيشِ لَم يُعِرِ

وَدَدتُ أَنَّ مُعيرَ العَيشِ لَم يُعِرِ

Life passes, and I feel no sorrow in its wake.

Life passes and I have no regret for it,

I wish the lender of life had never lent it.

I wish the critic of life had not criticized.

وَالمَوتُ يَسلِبُ ما في الأَنفِ مِن شَمَمٍ

وَالمَوتُ يَسلِبُ ما في الأَنفِ مِن شَمَمٍ

تَحتَ التُرابِ وَما في الخَدِّ مِن صَعَرِ

تَحتَ التُرابِ وَما في الخَدِّ مِن صَعَرِ

And death strips the nose of its proud lift,

And death takes away what is in the nose of smell,

beneath the soil, and the cheek of its haughty turn.

Under the soil and what is in the cheek of youth.

أَرى فِراري مِنَ المِقدارِ سَيِّئَةً

أَرى فِراري مِنَ المِقدارِ سَيِّئَةً

لَو تَعلَمُ الخَيلُ عِلمي فيهِ لَم تُعَرِ

لَو تَعلَمُ الخَيلُ عِلمي فيهِ لَم تُعَرِ

I regard my flight from fate as a misdeed.

I see my escape from fate is bad,

If horses knew what I know of it, they would not bolt.

If horses knew my knowledge in it, they would not race.

وَلا أَلومُ أَخا الإِلحادِ بَل رَجُلاً

وَلا أَلومُ أَخا الإِلحادِ بَل رَجُلاً

يَخشى السَعيرَ وَما يَنفَكُّ في سُعَرِ

يَخشى السَعيرَ وَما يَنفَكُّ في سُعَرِ

And I do not blame the man of unbelief, but rather a man

And I do not blame the brother of unbelief, but a man

who fears the blazing Fire, yet is forever in a frenzy.

Who fears hell, and does not cease stoking its flames.