ألا رُبَّ يومٍ بجرجانَ أرعنٍ

ضحِكْتُ له من خَرْقِهِ أتعجَّبُ

How many a day with fickle joy have I spent,

Laughing at its inconsistency, wondering.

وأخشى على نفسي اختلافَ هوائِهِ

وما للفتى ممَّا قضَى مهرَبُ

But I fear the fickleness of its breezes,

For man is helpless before what is foreordained.

وما خيرُ يومٍ أخرقٍ متلوِّنٍ

ببردٍ وحرٍّ بعدَهُ يتلهَّبُ

No happy day of shifting hues comes to pass

Without cold and heat swiftly following each other.

فأوَّلُهُ للفَرْوِ والجمرِ مِثْقَبُ

وآخِرُهُ للثلجِ والخَيْشِ يُضْرَبُ

Its beginning is pierced with ice and embers,

Its end is cloaked with frost and burning thirst.