مَا أَنَا بِالْأَدِيبِ يَا مَنْ كَلاَمُهْ

مِثْلُ دُرٍّ يَزِينُهُ نَظَّامُهْ

I am no man of letters, O you whose words

Are like pearls adorned by the one who strings them.

الْأَدِيبُ الذِي يَرُوقُ نِظَامُهْ

وَتُصَانُ عَنِ الْخَنَا أَقْلَامُهْ

The true man of letters is he whose composition delights,

And whose pens are guarded against indecency.