1. Tell the son of Harb, your long sword has weakened my strength through much misfortune,
Its traces are clear to the discerning one, traces of the luxury of early nations,

2. So it seems like the wine described as "Oh soul inclined to evil wisdom!"
And if we mend it and are told "It is sound," it says "Nay, it is ruined."

3. Like the sick man who seemed cured but relapsed, and surrendered himself to sickness,
I recited this when passion overflowed and poetry failed me, for singing is the joy of old age.