بِروحِيَ مَكفوفَ اللَواحِظِ لَم يَدَع

سَبيلاً إِلى صَبٍّ يَفوزُ بِخَيرِهِ

With my spirit blind to consequences he left

No way for youth to gain by its goodness

سَوالِفُهُ تُفني الوَرى خَلِّ لَحظَهُ

وَمَن لَم يَمُت بِالسَيفِ ماتَ بِغَيرِهِ

His tales annihilate people spare his glance

Who dies not by the sword perishes otherwise