أَيَّتُها النَفسُ لا تُهالي

شَرخي قَد مَرَّ وَاِكتِهالي

O soul, do not beguile me,

My youth has passed, so compose yourself,

لَم يَبقَ إِلّا شَفاً يَسيرٌ

قَرَّبَ مِن مَورِدي نِهالي

Little remains except a small measure,

My end is drawing near.

وَاِبتَهَلَ الدَهرُ في أَذاتي

وَكانَ في الباطِلِ اِبتِهالي

Fate has worn me down,

And in vain was my struggle.

وَأُمُّ دَفرٍ فَتاةُ سوءٍ

تَخبُؤُني في ثَرىً مُهالِ

The mother of misfortunes is an evil girl

Who buries me in a forgotten grave,

مُرسِلَةً غارَةً بِخَيلٍ

قَد غَنِيَت عَن هَبٍ وَهالِ

Sending a raid with horses

That have no need of gift or beseeching.

وَجَدتُ حُبّي لَها قَديماً

وَقَد تَبَيَّنتُ مَقتَها لي

Long ago I found her love,

And now her hatred of me is clear.