فَلمّا لَوينَ عَلى مِعصَمٍ

وَكفٍّ خَضيبٍ وإِسوارِها

When she leaned on a soft wrist,

And bloodstained hands with bracelets,

فضولَ أَزمّتِها أَسجَدت

سُجودَ النَّصارى لأَحبارِها

The excess of her pride made her bow down

The bow of Christians to their monks.

فَلا تأمَننَّ بَياتَ المنونِ

وَكُن حَذِراً حدَّ أَظفارِها

So do not feel safe from the sleep of death,

And be cautious to the extent of its claws.

فإِنَّ المَنِيَّةَ ما أَسأَرَت

مِنَ القَومِ عادَت لإِسآرِها

For death has not taken captive,

Of people, except to take them captive again.