آنَ لِمَن وَدَّعَ الشَّبابَا

أَنْ يَدَعَ الكأْسَ والشَّرَابَا

It is time for those who bid farewell to youth

To leave aside the cup and drink

عَنِيَّ بالرَّاحِ يَا نَدِيمي

فالشَّيْب قَدْ أغْلَظَ الخِطابَا

Leave me be, my friend, for gray hair

Has made reproach weighty

أَطارَ بَازِي المَشِيبِ قَسْراً

عَنْ لِمَّتي ذلكَ الغُرابَا

Old age's falcon forcibly snatched away

My turban, that stylish wrap

وَما المُداجَاةُ لي بِخُلْقٍ

فَكَيْفَ أَسْتَحْسِنُ الخِضابَا

Flattery does not suit my nature-

How could I approve of dye?

رُبَّ زَمانٍ رَكِبْتُ فيهِ

لَهْوِي وَقَدْ خَفَّ لي رِكابَا

Many are the days I rode

My whims, when the stirrups were light for me

أَمْتَعَني والشَّبابُ غَضٌّ

بِكلِّ مَا لَذَّ لي وَطَابَا

And youth made me delight

In all that was sweet and splendid

يَأْتي صَبُوحِي علَى غَبُوقي

واللَّيْلُ لَمْ يَنْزَعِ الإهَابَا

Morn comes to me still drowsy,

And night does not remove my worry

وَسَوْءَةً سَؤءَةً لِعَصْرٍ

أَصْفَرَ مِن خَيْرِهِ الوِطَابَا

How awful is an era whose goodness

Has withered and whose fruit has rotted

وَمَا عِتَابي لِغَيْرِ حَظِّي

لو أنَّهُ يَسْمَعُ العِتَابَا

I do not blame any but my own fortune

If only it could hear reproach