أُأَبِّنُ هائِماً في كُلِّ واد

قَتيلاً ما لَهُ في الدَهرِ وادِ

I eulogize a wanderer lost in every valley,

A slain victim for whom Time holds no blood-price,

أَلاحَ بِهِ الرُعافُ وَكانَ فيهِ

مَخايِلُ جَدِّهِ البَطَلِ الجَوادِ

A hemorrhage withered him, though he bore within

The hallmarks of his grandfather, the generous hero.

فَمَن لِأَبٍ أَراقَ دَمَ المَآقي

عَلَيهِ وَجَزَّ ناصِيَةَ الجَوادِ

Who is left for a father who has shed the blood of his eyes

Over him, and sheared the forelock of the steed?

بِكُلِّ مُتَوّجٍ مِن فِهر شِبلٍ

نَعَتهُ مَعي الحَبائِبُ وَالعَوادي

With every crowned noble of Fihr, a young lion,

The beloved ones and the calamities mourned him with me,

وَأَعوَلَتِ المَعالي وَالعَوالي

وَبيضُ الهِندِ وَالجُردِ العَوادي

And high honors and towering lances wailed aloud,

Along with the white swords of India and the sleek charging mares.