أَمسى خَليلُكَ عِندَ اللُبِّ مُحتَقَراً

وَلَيسَ في المَلَإِ الغادي بِمُحَتَقرِ

At eve my friend was scorned among the tipplers,

Yet none is scorned within that jovial train.

تَخالُ نَورَ الأَقاحي في عَوارِضِهِ

يُدنى إِلَيهِ بِكَأسٍ ذائِبِ الشَقَرِ

He seemed illumined by his flashing goblet,

Brought often to him brimmed with limpid wine.

إِن يُعطَها وَهُوَ رَضوى في زُجاجَتِه

يَعدُم رَشاداً فَلا يَحلُم وَلا يَقِرِ

If it is given him while the wine enchants him,

He lacks all sense, neither resigned nor calm.

كَم سَيِّدٍ جَعَلَتهُ الراحُ مِن خُرُقٍ

وَكانَ كَالهَضبِ مِن ثَهلانَ أَو أُقُرِ

How many a lord has fortune's change reduced

From highland chief to vagabond and beggar!

وَالراحُ تَجعَلُ مُرَّ العَيشِ عِندَهُمُ

حُلواً وَقَد ذَكَّرَتهُم أَوَّلَ المَقِرِ

Fortune has made the bitter taste of life

Seem sweet to them; reminder of the grave

تَخالَسوا لَذَّةً مِنها مُعَجَّلَةً

وَلَم يُبالوا بِما يَلقَونَ مِن سَقَرِ

They shunned. A fleeting pleasure was their quest.

Reckless if flames of hell should be their share.

وَأَغنَتِ الشَربَ إِلّا مِن جَميلِ نُهىً

مَن يَفتَقِر مِنهُ يوجَد شَرَّ مُفتَقَرِ

Wine would suffice them — but for craving more —

He who must crave shall find but misery.