لا صَيدَ إِلّا بِالصُقورِ اللُمَّحِ

كُلَّ قِطامِيٍّ بَعيدِ المَطرَحِ

There is no hunting save with sharp-sighted falcons,

Every Qitami breed that strikes from afar,

يَجلو حِجاجَي مُقلَةٍ لَم تَجرَحِ

لَم تَغذُهُ بِاللَبَنِ المُضَيَّحِ

Baring the brow-bones of an unblemished eye,

That was never nourished on diluted milk,

أَمَّ وَلَم يولَد بِسَهلِ الأَبطَحِ

إِلّا بِإِشرافِ الجِبالِ الطُمَّحِ

Nor born upon the flat, easy plains,

But solely on the peaks of towering mountains.

أَحَصُّ أَطرافَ القُدامى وَحوَحٍ

أَبرَشُ ما بَينَ القَرا وَالمَذبَحِ

Sparse-feathered at the wingtips, swift and strong,

Speckled between his back and his throat,

يَلوي بِخَزّانِ الصَحارى الجُمَّحِ

يُنحى لَها بَعدَ الطَماحِ الأَطمَحِ

He wheels toward the fleet hares of the wilds,

Swooping upon them after the highest of flights,

يَسلُكُها بِنَيزَكٍ مُذَرَّحٍ

وَمِنسَرٍ أَقنى كَأَنفِ المِجدَحِ

Piercing them with a crimson-stained spear,

And a hooked beak, curved like a mixing-staff,

وَهيَ رَواقٍ بِالبِساطِ الأَفيَح

وَمِتيَحاتٌ لِلَّحاقِ مُتيحِ

While they flee across the vast, spreading expanse,

Fated to be overtaken by the pursuer,

فَاِصطادَ قَبلَ التَعَبِ المُبَرِّحِ

وَقَبلَ أَوبِ العازِبِ المُرَوِّحِ

So he hunted, before exhausting fatigue could set in,

And before the herder returned with the evening flock,

خَمسينَ مِثلَ العَنَزِ المُشَدَّحِ

ما بَينَ مَذبوحٍ وَما لَم يُذبَحِ

Fifty of them, cast down like sprawling beasts,

Divided between the slain and those yet breathing.