يَقولونَ صِنعٌ مِن كَواكِبَ سَبعَةٍ

وَما هُوَ إِلّا مِن زَعيمِ الكَواكِبِ

They say it's made of seven stars aligned,

Yet it is but the work of the starry guide.

إِذا رَفَعَت تِلكَ المَواكِبُ قَسطَلاً

فَرافِعُهُ لِلعَينِ مُجري الكَواكِبِ

When those stars raise their bowl on high,

'Tis He who lifts it to the eye.

أَتَرجِعُ نَفسُ المَيتِ بَعدَ رَحيلِهِ

فَيَجزِيَ قَوماً بِالدُموعِ السَواكِبِ

Can the soul of the dead return after its farewell

To recompense a people with tearful, starry eyes?

تُبَدِّلَ أَعناقَ الرِجالِ وَأَيدِياً

تَناقُلُهُ مِن عَسجَديّ المَراكِبِ

He who changes the necks and hands of men,

Passing them like vessels from port to port.

أَحَبُّ إِلَيهِ كَونُهُ مُتَواطِأً

بِأَقدامِهِم لا الحَملُ فَوقَ المَناكِبِ

Dearer to Him are feet trudging in accord

Than bodies borne upon shoulders toward the shrine.

هُوَ المَوتُ مُثرٍ عِندَهُ مِثلُ مُقتِرٍ

وَقاصِدُ نَهجٍ مِثلُ آخَرَ ناكِبِ

To Him death is but a pauper at the door,

While another beggar walks the road declined.

وَدِرعُ الفَتى في حُكمِهِ دِرعُ غادَةٍ

وَأَبياتُ كِسرى مِن بُيوتِ العَناكِبِ

To Him the youth's armor is but the armor of Ghadah,

And Kisra's palace but the web of spiders spined.

فَرُجِّلَ في غَبراءَ وَالخَطبُ فارِسٌ

وَما زالَ في الأَهلينِ أَشرَفَ راكِبِ

He galloped unto Ghobra and the orator took the stand

While He remained the noblest rider of the two clans.

وَما النَعشُ إِلّا كَالسَفينَةِ رامِياً

بِغَرقاهُ في مَوجِ الرَدى المُتَراكِبِ

The bier is but a ship that voyages on billows

Of surging calamity, wave upon wave entwined.