أَيا خَير رَمسٍ ضمَّ أَعظُمَ مُصطَفى

سُقيت الحَيا إِني أَضرّ بي الجَفا

O finest grave, enfolding the bones of a chosen one,

May life-giving rain water you; separation has indeed harmed me.

وَلما تَوارى فيكَ يا رمس جسمه

تَكدّر لي عَيش بِهِ كانَ قَد صَفا

And when his body vanished within you, O grave,

My life grew turbid, though through him it once had been clear.

نعم سادَ بِالجنات في الحور مصطفى

Yes—the chosen one holds sway in the Gardens, among the houris.