راحَ الشقيُّ على دارٍ يسائلُها

ورحتُ أسألُ عن خمّارةِ البلدِ

The wretch went forth to question a dwelling's ruin, while I went forth to ask for the town's tavern,

He weeps over the traces of the departed clan of Asad—damn your mother! Tell me, who are the Banu Asad?

يبكي على طللِ الماضين من أسَدٍ

فنكتُ أمَّكَ قل لي مَن بنو أسد

And who are Tamim, and Bakr, and all their gathering? In the sight of God, the Bedouins are mere nobodies,

May the tear never dry of him who wept over a stone, nor the heart be healed of him who yearns for a tent-peg,

ومن تميم ومن بكرٌ وجمعُها

ليس الأعاريبُ عند اللِه من أحدِ

How vast the gulf between one praising wine in his estates, and one wailing over a storm-trench and piled rocks,

Leave that to the nomads—may you be lost!—and come away with us, to an aged vintage and a discerning companion of pleasure.

لاجفَّ دمعُ الذي بكي على حجَرٍ

ولا شفى قلبَ من يصبو إلى وتَدِ

كم بين ناعتِ خمرِ في دساكرهِ

وبين باكٍ عل نوءٍ ومنتضدِ

دع ذا فقدتُكَ للأعرابِ واغدُ بنا

إلى مدامِ نديمِ اللهوِ منتقدِ