ما بالُ عَينَيكِ مِنها دَمعُها سَرَبُ

أَراعَها حَزَنٌ أَم عادَها طَرَبُ

What ails your eyes, that tears from them stream in torrents?

Has grief frightened them, or has rapture revisited them?

أَم ذِكرُ صَخرٍ بُعَيدَ النَومِ هَيَّجَها

فَالدَمعُ مِنها عَلَيهِ الدَهرَ يَنسَكِبُ

Or has the memory of Sakhr, when sleep lies far away, stirred them?

And so their tears for him stream down forever.

يالَهفَ نَفسي عَلى صَخرٍ إِذا رَكِبَت

خَيلٌ لِخَيلٍ تُنادي ثُمَّ تَضطَرِبُ

Ah, my soul’s grief for Sakhr whenever cavalry mounts

against cavalry, calling out, then surging into tumult.

قَد كانَ حِصناً شَديدَ الرُكنِ مُمتَنِعاً

لَيثاً إِذا نَزَلَ الفِتيانُ أَو رَكِبوا

He was a fortress, mighty-pillared and unassailable,

a lion, whether the young warriors dismounted or rode.

أَغَرُّ أَزهَرُ مِثلُ البَدرِ صورَتُهُ

صافٍ عَتيقٌ فَما في وَجهِهِ نَدَبُ

Bright-browed and radiant, his form was like the full moon,

pure and highborn, with no scar upon his face.

يافارِسَ الخَيلِ إِذ شُدَّت رَحائِلُها

وَمُطعِمَ الجُوَّعِ الهَلكى إِذا سَغَبوا

O horseman of the cavalry when its saddles were cinched,

and feeder of the starving, near death whenever hunger seized them;

كَم مِن ضِرائِكَ هُلّاكٍ وَأَرمَلَةٍ

حَلّوا لَدَيكَ فَزالَت عَنهُمُ الكُرَبُ

how many destitute, perishing souls and widows

came to lodge with you, and their hardships fell away.

سَقياً لِقَبرِكَ مِن قَبرٍ وَلا بَرِحَت

جَودُ الرَواعِدِ تَسقيهِ وَتَحتَلِبُ

May rain water your grave—what a grave! And may

the bountiful thunderclouds never cease watering it, pouring out milk-like rain.

ماذا تَضَمَّنَ مِن جودٍ وَمِن كَرَمٍ

وَمِن خَلائِقَ ما فيهِنَّ مُقتَضَبُ

What generosity and munificence it holds within,

and what virtues—none can come near him in them.