فَواهاً لذاكَ الموردِ العذبِ إذ غدا

صَفاهُ بأقوالِ الوشاةِ مكدّرا

Oh how sweet that spring once flowed,

Though slander's tongues have left it muddied.

وَواها لأيّامٍ تقضّت بمربعٍ

مِنَ الوصلِ أَضحى اليوم مَغناهُ مُقفرا

Woe to days that slipped within a square

Of closeness - today its melody lies barren.