وَلَعْتُ بِبَيْضاءَ شابَتْ أسْوَدَ الشَّعَرِ

أَشَيْبَةٌ أَمْ خَيالٌ خالَهُ نَظَرِي

I became enamored of a fair one who turned the black of my hair gray.

Was it she who made it gray—or was it a phantom my sight imagined?

فَقُلْتُ هذَا اعْتِداءُ الدَّهْر عَاجَلَنِي

لِطُولِ مَطْلِكَ لِي فِي أَقْصَرِ الْعُمُرِ

I said, “This is Time’s assault; it has overtaken me too soon,

because you have put me off so long within life’s brief span.

لا تَأَمَنِي فِي زَمانِ السُّوءِ غَدْرَتَهُ

فَإِنَّهُ مُولَعٌ بالْغَدْرِ وَالْغِيَرِ

Do not feel secure, in an evil age, against its treachery;

for it is infatuated with betrayal and reversals.

كَونِي ولاَ تَثقِي مِنْهُ عَلَى حَذَرِ

وَمَنْ يَفُوتُ صُرُوفَ الدَّهْرِ بِالحَذَرِ

Be on your guard against it, and put no trust in it;

and who, through caution, escapes the turns of Time?”

فاسْتَعْبَرَتْ ثُمَّ قالْت جَدَّ هَزْلُكَ بِي

إِذْ تَدَعِي غَلَبَ الأَحْزانِ وَالْفِكَرِ

She burst into tears, then said, “Your jesting with me has turned earnest,

now that you claim sorrows and anxious thoughts have overcome you.”

وَلَمْ يَزَلْ حُبُّها صَعْباً عَلَى أَرَبِي

فِيهِ المَنِيَّةُ إيراداً بِلا صَدَرِ

Her love—my heart’s desire—has never ceased to be difficult for me;

within it lies death: arrival at the watering place with no departure.

وكَيْفَ أَعْطِفُ بِالشَّكْوَى وَرِقَّتِها

قَلْباً أَشَدُّ لَدَى الشَّكْوَى مِنَ الْحَجَرِ

How can I sway her tenderness with my complaint,

when her heart, faced with complaint, is harder than stone?