1. Does the eye give a glance from its beloved
Or the heart find solace from its sorrow?

2. Will the nights show affection after aloofness
Returning to delight the watcher from its setting?

3. For God has days of pardon as he pardoned
The twisting paths of meadows, fragrant and fresh

4. I yearn for the light of pastures in the valley
And pine for the friend at the watering place

5. That sanctuary goes out ailing in its breeze
And returns healthy in its water at dusk

6. I made its shade beloved in its desolation
Be it darkening or its sun in decline

7. My pact with that gazelle when I visited it
Grazing freely, not heeding its watcher’s eye

8. It arbitrated my mouth to its satisfaction
And brought my steed near the bowl of its milk

9. Yearning points to the slaying of the youth
When the heart no longer meets its beloved

10. You reproach the pallor of my face
Yet its ashen hue lies buried in its pallor

11. How much misery we delighted in its bitterness
And how much delight brought woe in its sweetness

12. Were it not for the remnants of fate’s calamities
I would have pardoned this life its past sins

13. Knowing the days and their betrayal
I refused, unconcerned with its events

14. I face its mighty without awe in my heart
Nor marvel at its wonders, surprised

15. The youth worries about aging
And may meet his end before it comes

16. The beginning of life makes him forget what follows
And its arrival shows us its secrets

17. How I split the night for every concern
And watch the stars rise until their setting

18. I traverse the edges of every land
And unleash calamity on the infidels

19. When an eminent one misbehaved, I left him
To a painful, remorseful restraint from frivolity

20. Hoping for honor I gained and a state
That increased my enemy’s wounds and anguish

21. I faced the nights’ army with a heart
Ready and close on their battlefield

22. I set my face against them, no coward
Fearing the sharp blades that pierce

23. Horses like columns bearing columns
On every buckled neck of their straps

24. I unleashed them on every slanderous horde
As the cupbearer shook the cups in his hands

25. Those who rode the steeds spent and exhausted the lofty
As their swords spilled white from the blood

26. How many attacks I resisted in their onslaught
Till the sword play of the steeds pierced their heels

27. When I rode calamity, none compared
He who rides the lion rises above the eminent

28. A band displays the glory of victory
Assailing with hands that wield the swords

29. Whiter than a lofty structure its lances
Resisting the torrents of perfidy, fruitful

30. More penetrating than its blades on the day of battle
More decisive than its shafts against the foe

31. Is the sword but drawn from its scabbard?
The moon but rising from its dunes?

32. When asked, it rains down blows from its lances
As the trailing robes of eminence rain from their peaks

33. A steed whose fury shreds the protection
Spreads dew from its smooth neck and shoulder

34. It goes before the star at its rising
And plunges before the star at its setting

35. I approved it on the day of its fury
Bare of covering, purified

36. It went on guarding the peers with its thrusts in battle
While the swords pierced the bowels of the steeds

37. I am the son of God’s prophet and his successor
Exalted, transcending his match and contender

38. The arrogant speaker humbled before me
When the frivolous exposed himself to the literary

39. By God, I will not meet time in disgrace
Even if it descends upon my neck at its setting

40. I am content, to me every kingdom's decline
From glory and eminence is like its rise

41. I regret only what I have wasted
To the impaired hearing of the asker, never sated

42. When he sees me, his gaze cuts short
And his averting signals me his gloom

43. Whoever does not count my praise as good fortune
I make the forms of blame his portion

44. Had my wrath been possible, I would not blame him
Restraint would replace blame, capturing his fancy

45. The toil of both merely gaze, hoping
For a flash in its hidden depths

46. I disparage in my poetry, and what I say
Worries the critic, flaw-picking from its slip-ups

47. Each braggart swiftly overlooks their own flaws
While their eyes are blind to their own faults

48. I do not speak verse, but as a means
To a hope whose time for gathering is ripe

49. When God takes my soul, I guarantee
Forsaking poetry and all its discourse

50. Has any critic a saying whose merit
Exalts me and fortifies the heights in its forms?

51. I will leave this life to vent its discontent
And turn my anger to the valleys of its wolves

52. And make my wrath before me a protection
So its water is safe from drying near me