أَلا أَبلِغ لَدَيكَ أَبا هِشامٍ

فَإِنَّ الريحَ أَبرَدُها الشَمالُ

Shall I not send word, O father of Hisham,

That the north wind is the coldest of them all?

عِداتُكَ في الهِلالِ عِداتُ صِدقٍ

فَهَل سَمِنَت كَما سَمِنَ الهِلالُ

Your herds in the new moon are herds of truth,

Have they grown fat as the crescent moon does grow?