هَل أَلهَمَت يَثرِبٌ يَوماً مَثَرَّبَها

أَن لَيسَ يَخلَدُ مِن آطامِها أُطُمُ

Did Yathrib one day inspire her ruinous state,

That glory does not last from her relics and remains?

كانَت تَضُمُّ رِجالاً تَحتَ أَعيُنِهِم

مَعاطِسٌ لَم تُذَلَّل عِزَّها الخُطُمُ

She embraced men whose eyes

Were lofty, unyielding to humiliation.

أَيدٍ إِذا بَسَطوها لِلعُلا وَصَلوا

وَأَوجُهٌ لا تُغادي مِثلَها اللُطَمُ

Hands that, when extended in aid or to attack,

Were hands whose like would not caress gentle things.

وَأَرضَعَ المَجدُ أَطفالاً وَأَمَّلَهُم

دَهرٌ فَماتوا أُلي شَيبٍ وَما فُطِموا

And glory nursed children, yet fate caused them to die

Before their temples turned white or they were weaned.

ضَراغِمٌ كَالقُطامِيّاتِ لَيسَ لَها

إِلى أَكيلٍ سِوى أَعدائِها قَطِمُ

They were violent like preying beasts, whose only food

Were their enemies, whom they eagerly sought to rend.

وَالناسُ مِثلُ سَوامٍ لا حُلومَ لَهُم

يَسوقُهُ لِلمَنايا سائِقٌ حُطَمُ

Men are like cattle driven to death by a driver,

With no will of their own, helpless and condemned.