مهما يكن للقيان زيناً

فصبوةٌ عودةُ القيانِ

No matter how beautiful the bow-maker's bow is,

A crooked bow returns to crookedness.

تبكي لوقتِ انصرافِ بيضٍ

يحسُنُ في الضرب والأغاني

A white-feathered arrow weeps for the time of departure,

Whose striking and singing were good.

فإن تغنَّتْ لنا وَدِدْنا

لو هي قامتْ عن المكانِ

If it were to sing to us we would love it,

If only it would leave its place.

قلتُ لها والكلامُ شيءٌ

يبدو لمستخرج المعاني

I said to her - and words are something

That seem of great meaning to their maker -

ليستْ من النار فيك شيءٌ

لكن من الخلد خلَّتان

"There is nothing of fire in you,

Only two eternities of tenderness.