بنفسِيَ مَن أبكَى السمواتِ موتُهُ

بغَيثٍ ظَننَّاهُ نوالَ يمينِهِ

With my soul I mourn the death

My soul is ransom for him whose death made the heavens weep,

Of one we thought would bring us rain

With rain that we deemed the bounty of his right hand;

فما استَعبَرَت إِلاَّ أسًى وتأسفاً

وإِلا فماذا القطرُ في غيرِ حينِهِ

The skies wept only in sorrow and regret

They shed no tears save out of sorrow and regret,

Else, why would the raindrops fall out of season?

For otherwise, what means this rain out of its season?