بِأَطلالِ دارٍ مِن عُمَيرَةَ عَرِّجِ

كَوشيِ اليَماني بَردُهُ غَيرُ منهَجِ

By the ruins of a house of Umayra I stopped,

Like the shirt of the Yemeni, its cold is unmatched,

أَقامَت عَلى الأَنواءِ يَسحَقنَ تُربَها

وَتَنسِجُها الأَرواحُ مِن كُلِّ مَنسَجِ

It stood over the winds, grinding its soil,

And the spirits weave it from every loom,

أراني عَلى شَيبِ القذالِ مَتى أَقِف

بِأَطلالِ دارٍ مِن عُمَيرَةَ أَنشُجِ

I see myself, with the grayness of old age, when will I stand,

By the ruins of a house from Umayra grieved