يا تارِكاً عِجلَ حالي

مِنَ الغِنى ذا خُوارِ

O you who hasten from my present state

Of wealth now lost and pride brought low,

اِستَجلِ ما وَلَدَتها

حَوامِلُ الأَفكارِ

Gather what thoughts may yet create

Before inspiration ceases its flow.

فَبَعدَ بَذلِ العَطايا

لا صَونَ لِلأَشعارِ

For when the gift of verse is spent,

There is no shield for poetry's woe.