إِنَّ النُفوسَ عَلى البَقاءِ حَريصَة

وَلها وَإِن كَرهته يَوم طالِح

The souls yearn for eternity

Though they dislike the day it comes

وَالدَهر يُضحك بَالفَتى مُستَهزِئاً

وَلَهُ خِلال الضِحك وَجه كالِح

And time laughs at the youth mockingly

With a face, despite the laughter, scowling