يُذَكِّرُني فاتِكاً حِلمُهُ

وَشَيءٌ مِنَ النَدِّ فيهِ اِسمُهُ

His forbearance brings Fatik back to my mind,

As does a trace of Nadd incense that bears his name.

وَلَستُ بِناسٍ وَلَكِنَّني

يُجَدِّدُ لي ريحَهُ شَمُّهُ

I am not one who forgets, and yet I find

His scent is renewed each time I breathe it in.

وَأَيَّ فَتىً سَلَبَتني المَنونُ

وَلَم تَدرِ ما وَلَدَت أُمُّهُ

What a youth has the hand of Fate snatched from me,

While his mother knew not the son she had borne;

وَلا ما تَضُمُّ إِلى صَدرِها

وَلَو عَلِمَت هالَها ضَمُّهُ

Nor what she was clasping close to her breast—

Had she known, his embrace would have filled her with dread.

بِمِصرَ مُلوكٌ لَهُم مالَهُ

وَلَكِنَّهُم ما لَهُم هَمُّهُ

In Egypt are kings who possess his wealth,

But they do not possess his noble aim.

فَأَجوَدُ مِن جودِهِم بُخلُهُ

وَأَحمَدُ مِن حَمدِهِم ذَمُّهُ

His stinginess is more generous than their bounty,

And his censure more praiseworthy than their acclaim.

وَأَشرَفُ مِن عَيشِهِم مَوتُهُ

وَأَنفَعُ مِن وُجدِهِم عُدمُهُ

His death is more honorable than their life,

And his void is more fruitful than all their gain.

وَإِنَّ مَنِيَّتَهُ عِندَهُ

لَكَالخَمرِ سُقِّيَهُ كَرمُهُ

Indeed, the cup of his death was to him

Like wine that his own vineyard poured for him;

فَذاكَ الَّذي عَبَّهُ ماؤُهُ

وَذاكَ الَّذي ذاقَهُ طَعمُهُ

It was that which his essence drank deep in a gulp,

And that which his palate did savor and taste.

وَمَن ضاقَتِ الأَرضُ عَن نَفسِهِ

حَرىً أَن يَضيقَ بِها جِسمُهُ

For he whose great soul found the earth too narrow,

It is fitting his body should find it too tight.