ذاد ورد الغي عن صدره — Al Akouk

He drove folly's throng away from his breast,

And came to his senses, though pleasure was his desire.

And nothing but dignity did they allow him—

The laughter of gray hairs amid his hair.

My regret is that youth has passed,

Without my taking it to the limits of its wanton joy.

And its days passed peacefully;

I stirred no war against its reversals.

Its freshness fell away from me,

And the ripe yield of its fruit withered.

My ear inclined toward its rebuker,

Though it had not yet grieved at his rebuke.

When my hand, strong as it was, would defy,

Recognizing no claim of vengeance for its seeker.

And youthful passion was a grazing herd I circled,

Finding intimacy among its shy creatures.

Its pastures yielded at my name,

And the sons of its night-talk tended my night.

And many a jealous man guarding his domain—

I gained safety's shelter despite his vigilance.

And blood I spilled from a young gazelle,

Who sought no blood-money for its spilling.

He spent the night offering me his vital spots,

And offered himself as my ransom despite his shyness.

Then something came between me and youthful passion;

It turned things against me, avenging its grievance.

My neighbor, youth is not for one

Who goes about bent under the weight of age.

Things I was once devoted to have vanished;

My sober reason bent them toward its own inclination.

She came by night to chide; I told her:

Go away; you are no part of its surging passions.

Enough of one poised upon a hope

That wearies the eyes trying to behold it.

Indeed, before wealth there stands a mountain;

The pale camels will stumble through its rugged ground.

Long-striding, they vie in journeying by night;

Their swaying gait has cloaked them in its dust.

How much night-darkness they have blindly traversed,

Rousing morning from its fragments.

It bursts forth from their padded feet,

As fire bursts forth in its sparks.

Leave the bounty of Qahtan or Mudar

With their Yemenites and their men of Mudar.

And praise a man of Wa'il:

The refuge of all horizons comes from his refuge.

Death is in his cavalry squadrons,

And gifts crown the heights of his chambers.

He humbled the world with his bounty,

And raised religion from its stumble.

A king whose fingertips drip with bounty,

Like a rain-bearing star breaking forth in rain.

Beaming forth with his gifts,

Like a meadow smiling with its blossoms.

Resolve bound affairs to him,

When no one could shoulder their difficulty.

He met their needs and shouldered them alone;

The strength of his twisted cords admitted no weakness.

A mountain of impregnable shoulders,

Adnan found safety within his frontiers.

The world is nothing but Abu Dulaf,

Between his field of battle and his abode.

So when Abu Dulaf turns away,

The world turns away in his wake.

I do not know what to say to him,

Except that the earth is under his protection.

O cure for the earth when it is corrupted,

And giver of ease in place of its hardship.

Every Arab upon the earth,

From their nomads to their townspeople,

Borrows from you a noble deed,

Which he wears on his day of boasting.

God fashioned you, Abu Dulaf,

A hue among creation drawn from His choicest.

Whichever of your two days you proclaim your own,

Glory takes light from its quarters.

Were you to strike at Time from the side,

Your two palms would chip its stone.

Many a man wrapped in safety in a refuge—

You have made fear spend the night in his refuge.

And a son of fear deep within a thicket—

You plucked him safely from his thicket.

And many a marching host, whose steeds' neighing

Is like the cry of the Resurrection amid its multitude—

You led it, with death lying hidden

In its mature chargers and its tangled ranks.

Then a hand from it struck Jiluh,

Folding away his outspread arrogance.

You visited him, the horses grim-faced,

Bearing woe into his homestead.

Coming forth beneath their banner,

Like birds leaving their nests.

So you gave the horses free run of his courtyard,

And feasted the birds on his slain.

And you wheeled them against al-Nu'man,

So you straightened the crooked tilt of his neck.

Al-Nu'man scorned their purity,

So you returned the clear into his murk.

And he sipped the cup of an evening drinker,

Never granted sobriety in place of his drunkenness.

And against Qurqur you turned the mill

Of a battle that blunted the points of his insolence.

And you delayed to keep him alive,

But the fixed decree of his fate refused.

And he floated up, until you raised for him

A hideous affair to mark his memory.