عَجِلتَ يا شَيبُ عَلى مَفرِقي

وَأَيُّ عُذرٍ لَكَ أَن تَعجَلا

You hurried, O gray hair, to my temple

What excuse do you have to hurry so?

وَكَيفَ أَقدَمتَ عَلى عارِضٍ

ما اِستَغرَقَ الشَعرَ وَلا اِستَكمَلا

How did you set upon a transient

That had not overwhelmed poetry or reached perfection?

كُنتُ أَرى العِشرينَ لي جَنَّةً

مِن طارِقِ الشَيبِ إِذا أَقبَلا

I used to see twenty as a paradise for me

When the raider of gray hair came

فَالآنَ سيّانِ اِبنُ أُمِّ الصِبا

وَمَن تَسَدّى العُمُرَ الأَطوَلا

Now the sons of the mother of youth are equal

And he whose life was longer

يا زائِراً ما جاءَ حَتّى مَضى

وَعارِضاً ما غامَ حَتّى اِنجَلى

O visitor who came and went

And transient who had not dimmed before it faded

وَما رَأى الراؤونَ مِن قَبلِها

زَرعاً ذَوى مِن قَبلِ أَن يُبقِلا

Those who saw had not before it

Seen crops wither before they ripened

لَيتَ بَياضاً جاءَني آخِراً

فِدى بَياضٍ كانَ لي أَوَّلا

If only the whiteness had come to me last

Instead of the whiteness that was my first

وَليتَ صُبحاً ساءَني ضَوءُهُ

زالَ وَأَبقى لَيلَهُ الأَليَلا

If only the dawn whose light saddened me

Had faded and left its lengthy night

يا ذابِلاً صَوَّحَ فَينانُهُ

قَد آنَ لِلذابِلِ أَن يُختَلى

O fading one who boasted vainly

It is time for the fading one to be plucked

حَطَّ بِرَأسي يَقَقاً أَبيَضاً

كَأَنَّما حَطَّ بِهِ مُنصُلا

It crowned my head with white spikes

As if it crowned it with a sickle

هَذا وَلَم أَعدُ بِحالِ الصِبا

فَكَيفَ مَن جاوَزَ أَو أَوغَلا

This while I was not old in my youth

So what of one who surpassed or went deeper?

مِن خَوفِهِ كُنتُ أَهابُ السُرى

شُحّاً عَلى وَجهِيَ أَن يُبذَلا

Out of fear it would be wasted on my face

I was stingy to walk about at night

فَلَيتَني كُنتُ تَسَربَلتُهُ

في طَلَبِ العِزِّ وَنَيلِ العُلى

If only I had worn it out

Seeking glory and reaching the heights

قالوا دَعِ القاعِدَ يُزري بِهِ

مَن قَطَعَ اللَيلَ وَجابَ الفَلا

They said "Leave the sitter whom"

"The night walker and wanderer ridicules"

قَد كانَ شِعري رُبَّما يَدَّعي

نُزولَهُ بي قَبلَ أَن يَنزِلا

My poetry would sometimes claim

To have descended on me before it descended

فَالآنَ يَحميني بِبَيضائِهِ

أَن أُكذِبَ القَولَ وَأَن أُبطِلا

Now its whiteness protects me

From lying words and nullifying them

قُل لِعَذولي اليَومَ نَم صامِتاً

فَقَد كَفاني الشَيبُ أَن أُعذَلا

Say to my critic today, "Sleep silent

For gray hair relieves me from having to apologize"

طِبتُ بِهِ نَفساً وَمَن لَم يَجِد

إِلّا الرَدى أَذعَنَ وَاِستَقبَلا

I have accepted it in myself, and he who found

Only demise resigned and turned to it

لَم يَلقَ مِن دوني لَهُ مَصرِفاً

وَلَم أَجِد مِن دونِهِ مَوئِلا

It found no other refuge but me

And I found no haven but it