مَضى عَليٌّ نَحوَ ميدانِهِ

في فتية راحَ بِهُم لِلنِضال

My uncle went toward his arena,

amid youths with whom he set out for the shooting contest.

يا حُسنَهُ وَالقَوس في كَفِهِ

كَالمُشتَري أَشرَق عِندَ الهِلال

How handsome he was, the bow in his hand—

like Jupiter, shining beside the crescent moon.