لا اِفتِخارٌ إِلّا لِمَن لا يُضامُ

مُدرِكٍ أَو مُحارِبٍ لا يَنامُ

None but the tireless champion merits praise,

True glory belongs only to those who suffer no wrong,

The questing knight, or warrior sleep disdains,

To the achiever, or the warrior who knows no sleep.

لَيسَ عَزماً ما مَرَّضَ المَرءُ فيهِ

لَيسَ هَمّاً ما عاقَ عَنهُ الظَلامُ

‘Tis no resolve when sickness makes men pause,

It is not resolve if one nurses it feebly,

No care when darkness all their power restrains,

Nor true ambition if darkness holds it back.

وَاِحتِمالُ الأَذى وَرُؤيَةُ جانيـ

ـهِ غِذاءٌ تَضوى بِهِ الأَجسامُ

Yet bearing hurt, beholding him who dealt it,

To bear insult while seeing its perpetrator

Proves food by which the body thrives and gains.

Is a bitter food that makes the body wither.

ذَلَّ مَن يَغبِطُ الذَليلَ بِعَيشٍ

رُبَّ عَيشٍ أَخَفُّ مِنهُ الحِمامُ

How sad when men the lowly lot begrudge

Low is he who envies the base their life;

To many a life that lighter is than down!

For there are lives less bearable than death.

كُلُّ حِلمٍ أَتى بِغَيرِ اِقتِدارٍ

حُجَّةٌ لاجِئٌ إِلَيها اللِئامُ

Forbearance without might wins no regard,

All forbearance shown without the power to strike

Weaklings and cowards seek it for their crown.

Is but a pretext behind which cowards hide.

مَن يَهُن يَسهُلِ الهَوانُ عَلَيهِ

ما لِجُرحٍ بِمَيِّتٍ إيلامُ

Whoever bends shall wear the yoke of shame;

Those who accept base usage find humiliation ease;

No dead man feels the living wound’s sharp pains.

No wound can pain the dead.

ضاقَ ذَرعاً بِأَن أَضيقَ بِهِ ذَر

عاً زَماني وَاِستَكرَمَتني الكِرامُ

Straitened my lot, an envious age denied,

Time sought to crush my spirit, but failed to stifle me,

Yet bounteous souls grant me their large domains.

And the noble-hearted deemed me worthy of honor.

واقِفاً تَحتَ أَخمَصَي قَدرِ نَفسي

واقِفاً تَحتَ أَخمَصَيَّ الأَنامُ

Below my feet I see the sphere of fate,

While all creation stands beneath my heels,

And under mine the tread of all men’s feet.

I stand beneath the soles of my own self-worth.

أَقَراراً أَلَذَّ فَوقَ شَرارٍ

وَمَراماً أَبغي وَظُلمي يُرامُ

Confessed the sweetest thing by sage possessed,

Shall I seek sweet rest upon a bed of sparks?

And aspiration is the goal I meet;

Or pursue my aim while wrong is done to me?

دونَ أَن يَشرَقُ الحِجازُ وَنَجدٌ

وَالعِراقانِ بِالقَنا وَالشَآمُ

Though Hijaz shine not, Nejd and Iraq’s plains,

Not until the Hijaz, Najd, the two Iraqs,

Nor Syria gleam with Kanah and Shan.

And Syria choke upon the forest of spears,

شَرَقَ الجَوِّ بِالغُبارِ إِذا سا

رَ عَلِيُّ اِبنُ أَحمَدَ القَمقامُ

The day shone bright in dust when Ali rode,

Choking like the air with dust when marches forth

The pure, the eloquent, the brave, the polished knight

Ali, son of Ahmad, the overwhelming sea.

الأَديبُ المُهَذَّبُ الأَصيَدُ الضَر

بُ الذَكِيُّ الجَعدُ السَرِيُّ الهُمامُ

Sagacious, splendid, elegant in form,

The refined scholar, the proud striker,

True, noble, who still his jealous foes did smite,

The sharp wit, the noble chief, the hero,

وَالَّذي رَيبُ دَهرِهِ مِن أُسارا

هُ وَمِن حاسِدي يَدَيهِ الغَمامُ

With lavish generosity he cures the ill

He who holds the turns of Fate his prisoner,

That oft great riches bring, as if they blight;

Whose open hands the rain-clouds view with envy.

يَتَداوى مِن كَثرَةِ المالِ بِالإِقـ

ـلالِ جوداً كَأَنَّ مالاً سَقامُ

Fair in his enemies' eyes at break of day,

He cures himself of wealth by giving it away,

More so than any guest their tents did light.

As though his riches were a malady.

حَسَنٌ في عُيونِ أَعدائِهِ أَقـ

ـبَحُ مِن ضَيفِهِ رَأَتهُ السَوامُ

Were he the death-doomed noble’s guard, vain were

Handsome in his enemies' eyes, yet to the herd

The emissary, and frustrated his might.

More dread than the guest for whom they shall be slain.

لَو حَمى سَيِّداً مِنَ المَوتِ حامٍ

لَحَماكَ الإِجلالُ وَالإِعظامُ

In bowls of glory I have dipped my pen,

If any shield could guard a lord from death,

After Qais signing, peace unto him! Sa’d’s son,

Then awe and reverence would have been your guard.

وَعَوارٍ لَوامِعٌ دينُها الحِلـ

ـلُ وَلَكِنَّ زِيَّها الإِحرامُ

Sharp thorns, though camels spurn them, these men are;

And shining steeds whose creed allows the raid,

Their night and day - all flame and smoke in one.

Though clad in white as pilgrims in their rite.

كُتِبَت في صَحائِفِ المَجدِ بِسمٌ

ثُمَّ قَيسٌ وَبَعدَ قَيسِ السَلامُ

The lofty enterprize attained by them

In Glory's book is written: 'In God's Name,'

Soars beyond what imagination known.

Then 'Qays'—and after Qays, the book is closed.

إِنَّما مُرَّةُ اِبنُ عَوفِ اِبنِ سَعدٍ

جَمَراتٌ لا تَشتَهيها النِعامُ

Valiant the souls that riding forth to war,

For Murrah, son of Awf, son of Sa'd,

Their onset comes before their lances gone.

Are coals so hot even ostriches refuse them.

لَيلُها صُبحُها مِنَ النارِ وَالإِصـ

ـباحُ لَيلٌ مِنَ الدُخانِ تَمامُ

Their breasts defensive bulwarks have become,

Their night is turned to day by fires of war,

As though the onslaught were resignation meet.

Their day to absolute night by clouds of smoke.

هِمَمٌ بَلَّغَتكُمُ رُتَباتٍ

قَصُرَت عَن بُلوغِها الأَوهامُ

Chiefs of each band and steed the bridle know,

Ambitions that have raised you to such heights

The housing have encased them and the fleet.

As imagination fails to comprehend.

وَنُفوسٌ إِذا اِنبَرَت لِقِتالٍ

نَفِدَت قَبلَ يَنفَدُ الإِقدامُ

They trip on heads as speech aye trips on Tá’s,

And souls that, when they sally forth to fight,

Thy mispronouncing them indeed is long.

Perish before their daring is exhausted.

وَقُلوبٌ مُوَطَّناتٌ عَلى الرَو

عِ كَأَنَّ اِقتِحامَها اِستِسلامُ

The paper sheets enough of men contain,

And hearts so settled in the face of dread,

Paper for writing exhausts pens ere long.

They charge as calmly as if they surrendered.

قائِدو كُلِّ شَطبَةٍ وَحِصانٍ

قَد بَراها الإِسراجُ وَالإِلجامُ

Thy varied gifts the reflective thought transcend,

Masters of every steed and mare, worn thin

And inspiration finds in thee its bound.

By constant saddling and the bridle's bit.

يَتَعَثَّرنَ بِالرُؤوسِ كَما مَر

رَ بِتاءاتِ نُطقِهِ التَمتامُ

A horse whose owner risks his life, is sold

They stumble over severed heads, like one

For ruin, yet none cry ‘Shame!’ at such a wound.

Who stammers stumbling over repeated words.

طالَ غِشيانُكَ الكَرائِهَ حَتّى

قالَ فيكَ الَّذي أَقولُ الحُسامُ

One beggar’s glance thy bounty riches gave;

So long have you frequented fields of dread

So crowned thy beggary is with gifts renowned.

That the sword speaks of you as I do now.

وَكَفَتكَ الصَفائِحُ الناسَ حَتّى

قَد كَفَتكَ الصَفائِحَ الأَقلامُ

Though heads best limbs, feet by thy grace prevail,

The blades sufficed you against enemies,

Who aye directest feet where heads are bound.

Until the pens sufficed you against blades.

وَكَفَتكَ التَجارِبُ الفِكرَ حَتّى

قَد كَفاكَ التَجارِبَ الإِلهامُ

Short have I fallen, crowds the approach impede

Experience spared you the need for thought,

And gifts to give press on from every side!

Until pure instinct spared you experience.

فارِسٌ يَشتَري بِرازَكَ لِلفَخـ

ـرِ بِقَتلٍ مُعَجَّلٍ لا يُلامُ

Holding thy right I feared the envious might

A knight who buys the honor of your duel

Seize me, when thou thy largess dost divide.

With certain, swift death—and is not to blame.

نائِلٌ مِنكَ نَظرَةً ساقَهُ الفَقـ

ـرُ عَلَيهِ لِفَقرِهِ إِنعامُ

Prudence though absent, is by distance known,

Or one whom poverty drove to seek your glance,

By slow advance the swiftest storm outvied.

Finding in your sight a wealth of grace.

خَيرُ أَعضائِنا الرُؤوسُ وَلَكِن

فَضَلَتها بِقَصدِكَ الأَقدامُ

Say, how much treasured verse in order set

The head is the noblest part of man, yet now

Desires no better lot than with thee tied?

The feet that walked to you have surpassed it.

قَد لَعَمري أَقصَرتُ عَنكَ وَلِلوَفـ

ـدِ اِزدِحامٌ وَلِلعَطايا اِزدِحامُ

Fearing thee, night and day would cease to be

By my life, I stayed away while crowds of men

Didst thou appoint them not their course and tide.

Jostled for audience and to claim your gifts.

خِفتُ إِن صِرتُ في يَمينِكَ أَن تَأ

خُذَني في هِباتِكَ الأَقوامُ

God grant thee right, misleading and misled

I feared that if I stood at your right hand,

Together, in thy presence purified!

You might bestow me as a gift on others.

وَمِنَ الرُشدِ لَم أَزُركَ عَلى القُر

بِ عَلى البُعدِ يُعرَفُ الإِلمامُ

Why fear'st thou not the future’s sequence fell

It was wisdom not to visit when near;

Beyond this world wherein thou dost abide?

True devotion is proven from afar.

وَمِنَ الخَيرِ بُطءُ سَيبِكَ عَنّي

أَسرَعُ السُحبِ في المَسيرِ الجَهامُ

What loved friend thine excuse can not refute

It is well your bounty has been slow to come;

Whom thou dost blame, such thy fair acts provide?

The clouds that race the fastest bring no rain.

قُل فَكَم مِن جَواهِرٍ بِنِظامٍ

وُدُّها أَنَّها بِفيكَ كَلامُ

High character raised thee above him, yet

How many strung pearls wish that they could be

Thy heart is tempted by his speech of pride.

The eloquent words falling from your lips?

هابَكَ اللَيلُ وَالنَهارُ فَلَو تَنـ

ـهاهُما لَم تَجُز بِكَ الأَيّامُ

Some poesy is madness, nothing more,

The Night and Day so fear you, that if you

And some wise judgments for our spirit’s guide

Forbade them, Time itself would cease to pass.

حَسبُكَ اللَهُ ما تَضِلُّ عَنِ الحَقـ

ـقِ وَما يَهتَدي إِلَيكَ أَثامُ

From it a wondrous art did draw its life,

God is your sufficiency; you never stray from Truth,

And masterpieces there conspicuous glide;

Nor can sin ever find its way to you.

لِمَ لا تَحذَرُ العَواقِبَ في غَيـ

ـرِ الدَنايا أَما عَلَيكَ حَرامُ

Others mere colorist’s affectations,

Why fear you no consequence save in dishonor?

Pigments and brush the painter’s skill deride.

Is cowardice alone forbidden to you?

كَم حَبيبٍ لا عُذرَ في اللَومِ فيهِ

لَكَ فيهِ مِنَ التُقى لُوّامُ

How many loved ones, whom to blame is wrong,

Did piety compel you to renounce?

رَفَعَت قَدرَكَ النَزاهَةُ عَنهُ

وَثَنَت قَلبُكَ المَساعي الجِسامُ

Your virtue raised your rank above such things;

Great enterprises turned your heart aside.

إِنَّ بَعضاً مِنَ القَريضِ هُذاءٌ

لَيسَ شَيئاً وَبَعضَهُ أَحكامُ

Indeed, some poetry is senseless raving,

While some is wisdom, carved in lines of verse.

مِنهُ ما يَجلُبُ البَراعَةُ وَالفَضـ

ـلُ وَمِنهُ ما يَجلُبُ البِرسامُ

Some comes from talent and a noble mind,

And some is born of fever and disease.