أَلَذُّ مِنَ المُدامِ الخَندَريسِ

وَأَحلى مِن مُعاطاةِ الكُؤوسِ

Sweeter than honeyed wine

More savory to me than old, fermented wine,

And more delicious than drinking from cups

And sweeter than the passing round of cups,

مُعاطاةُ الصَفائِحِ وَالعَوالي

وَإِقحامي خَميساً في خَميسِ

Is crossing swords and fighting for glory

Is the exchanging of the broadswords and the spears,

And plunging headlong into the fray

And my thrusting of one army against another.

فَمَوتي في الوَغى أَرَبي لِأَنّي

رَأَيتُ العَيشَ في أَرَبِ النُفوسِ

For I would rather die in battle

For death within the fray is my desire,

Than live with cowardice in my soul

Because I see true life in the soul’s high aim.

وَلَو سُقِّيتُها بِيَدي نَديمٍ

أَسَرُّ بِهِ لَكانَ أَبا ضَبيسِ

And if my life is taken by a comrade’s hand

And were I served the cup by a companion's hand

I will be glad for it is no disgrace

In whom I take delight, it would be Abu Dhabis.