غاضَت بَدائِعُ فِطنَةِ الأَوهامِ

وَعَدَت عَلَيها نَكبَةُ الأَيّامِ

The ingenious masterpieces of imagination have faded away,

And the mishaps of time have befallen them.

وَغَدا القَريضُ ضَئيلَ شَخصٍ باكِياً

يَشكو رَزِيَّتَهُ إِلى الأَقلامِ

Poetry has become a grieving weak person,

Complaining of his misery to the pens.

وَتَأَوَّهَت غُرَرُ القَوافي بَعدَهُ

وَرَمى الزَمانُ صَحيحَها بِسَقامِ

The pearls of rhyme have sighed after him,

And time has afflicted their perfection with imperfection.

أَودى مُثَقِّفُها وَرائِضُ صَعبِها

وَغَديرُ رَوضَتِها أَبو تَمّامِ

The one who refined it and composed its difficult verses has perished,

And the abundant stream in its meadow has become dry.