1. Every beautiful thing has a blight,

    And the blight of beardless youths is the sprouting of beards.

  2. O branch that, when it clothed itself in fresh beauty,

    And blossoms smiled upon it, withered!

  3. Hair has lodged you in the abode of loathing,

    And blunted the sword of death in your eyelids.

  4. An eclipse of the moons of night is hideous;

    What, then, if it befalls the midmorning sun?

  5. Whoever’s beard has blackened his cheek

    Has died, even if he is not a captive of the earth.

Sol 6.1