كَأَنَّما الأَجسادُ إِن فارَقَت

أَرواحَها صَخرٌ ثَوى أَو خُشُب

As if bodies, when their souls depart,

Are rock where they repose or wooden planks.

وَما دَرى المَيتُ أَأَكفانُهُ

مُخلِقَةٌ في رَمسِهِ أَم قُشُب

Nor does the dead man know if winding sheets

Swathing him are brocade or narrow wraps.

شابَ عَلَينا أَمرَنا شائِبٌ

وَقَد وَدِدنا أَنَّهُ لَم يَشُب

Our case took on grey hairs though we hoped

That it would not turn grey or show white locks.

طَوبى لِطَيرٍ تَلقُطُ الحَبَّةَ المُلقاةَ

أَو وَحشٍ تَقَفّى العُشُب

Happy the bird who snatches scattered grain

Or beast that crops the herbage growing free.

لا تَألَفُ الإِنسَ وَلا تَعرِفُ القَن

سَ وَلا تَسمو إِلَيها الأُشُب

It knows not humankind, nor violence feels,

No war's bright banners lure it to its doom.

فَلا تَشُبُّ الحَربَ وَقّادَةً

فَخامِدٌ في نَفسِهِ مَن يَشُبّ

So blessed who no urge to war feels growing

Within his soul, but rests in inward peace.