لا تَحسُنُ الوَفرَةُ حَتّى تُرى

مَنشورَةَ الضِفرَينِ يَومَ القِتال

Abundance does not become you until it is seen

The flowing locks possess no grace until they are seen

Spread between your braids on the day of battle,

Flying loose from their braids on the day of battle,

عَلى فَتىً مُعتَقِلٍ صَعدَةً

يَعُلُّها مِن كُلِّ وافي السِبال

Upon a youth in shackles ascending

Upon a youth who grips a straight and slender lance,

With every revenger to avenge him responding

Quenching its thirst from every full-mustachioed foe.