إِرجَع إِلى السِنِّ فَاِنظُر ما تَقادُمُها

فَاِحكُم عَلَيهِ وَلا تَحكُم عَلى الشَعَرِ

Return to my age and see how far it has reached,

Then judge it, and do not judge poetry.

فَكَم ثَلاثينَ حَولاً شَيَّبَت وَمَضَت

سُتّونَ وَالشَيبُ فيها غَيرُ مُستَعَرِ

For how many thirty years have turned white and passed,

Sixty, and the whiteness in it is not borrowed.

وَلَيسَ ذَلِكَ إِلّا صِبغَةٌ جُعِلَت

طَبعاً وَإِن قيلَ شابَ الرَأسُ لِلذُعُرِ

That is only a color made

A nature, though it is said the head turned white with fright,

تَمضي الحَياةُ وَما لي إِثرَها أَسَفٌ

وَدَدتُ أَنَّ مُعيرَ العَيشِ لَم يُعِرِ

Life passes and I have no regret for it,

I wish the critic of life had not criticized.

وَالمَوتُ يَسلِبُ ما في الأَنفِ مِن شَمَمٍ

تَحتَ التُرابِ وَما في الخَدِّ مِن صَعَرِ

And death takes away what is in the nose of smell,

Under the soil and what is in the cheek of youth.

أَرى فِراري مِنَ المِقدارِ سَيِّئَةً

لَو تَعلَمُ الخَيلُ عِلمي فيهِ لَم تُعَرِ

I see my escape from fate is bad,

If horses knew my knowledge in it, they would not race.

وَلا أَلومُ أَخا الإِلحادِ بَل رَجُلاً

يَخشى السَعيرَ وَما يَنفَكُّ في سُعَرِ

And I do not blame the brother of unbelief, but a man

Who fears hell, and does not cease stoking its flames.