قَد صَدَقَ الوَردُ في الَّذي زَعَما

أَنَّكَ صَيَّرتَ نَثرَهُ دِيَما

The rose was right in what it claimed

The roses spoke the truth when they proclaimed that you have turned their scattering into rain;

That you made its prose into poetry forever

As if the air, rippling with their fall, were a sea holding red anemones within its waves.

كَأَنَّما مائِجُ الهَواءِ بِهِ

بَحرٌ حَوى مِثلَ مائِهِ عَنَما

As if the air wafting it

Their scatterer is one who scatters blood with swords, and every word he utters is wisdom;

Was an ocean that held the like of its softness

With horses he has parceled out estates, alongside ample blessings and retributions.

ناثِرُهُ ناثِرُ السُيوفِ دَماً

وَكُلَّ قَولٍ يَقولُهُ حِكَما

Its sprinkler sprinkles blood from swords

So let the rose show us—if it complains of his hand—something fairer that escaped his bounty unharmed.

And everything it says is wise maxims

And tell it: "You are not the best of what he has strewn; he but made you an amulet to guard Generosity,"

وَالخَيلَ قَد فَصَّلَ الضِياعَ بِها

وَالنِعَمُ السابِغاتِ وَالنِقَما

And the horses differentiated the lands with them

"In fear of the Envious Eye, lest it be struck; thus he struck the eye by which blindness is struck."

And the perfect blessing and the perfect adversity

فَليُرِنا الوَردُ إِن شَكا يَدَهُ

أَحسَنَ مِنهُ مِن جودِهِ سَلِما

So let the rose show us if it complains of its hand

Better than it in giving generously complete

وَقُل لَهُ لَستَ خَيرَ ما نَثَرَت

وَإِنَّما عَوَّذَت بِكَ الكَرَما

And say to it you are not the best thing sprinkled

But they have only protected you, O generosity

خَوفاً مِنَ العَينِ أَن يُصابَ بِها

أَصابَ عَيناً بِها يُصابُ عَمى

Fearing the evil eye would afflict it

An eye that is afflicted with it, is afflicted with blindness