لَم يَبقَ إِلّا نَفَسٌ خافِتٍ

وَمُقلَةٌ إِنسانُها باهِتُ

There remains but a faint breath

And a life whose flame is dim

بَلى وَما في جِسمِهِ مَفصِلٌ

إِلّا وَفيهِ سَقَمٌ ثابِتُ

Indeed, and not one joint in his body

But in it is a persisting pain

فَدَمعُهُ يَجري وَأَحشاؤُهُ

توقَدُ إِلّا أَنَّهُ ساكِتُ

His tears flow and his bowels

Burn, though he makes no moan

عَدُوُّهُ يَبكي لَهُ رَحمَةً

وَحَسبُكُم مِن راحِمٍ شامَتُ

His foe weeps for him in pity

Yet this pitier is glad of his pain