سُقيتَ الحَيا يا دَيرَ ياقوتَ مَنزِلاً

وَلا زال عَذباً وَردُ مائِكَ سَلسَلا

O monastery, abode of rubies, you were watered with life

And your roses' nectar still flows fresh and chained

وَجرَّت عَلى مَغناكَ أَذيال نَفحَةٍ

تُفَتِّقُها أَيدي التَنَفُّسِ مَندِلا

The fringes of perfume trailed over your meads

Parted by the hands of breathing, like a scarf

زَمانُ الصِبا فيكَ اِنقَضَت طَيِّباتُهُ

فَما كانَ أهناهُ زَماناً وَأَجمَلا

The days of youth within you passed with their sweets

No time was more blissful and beautiful

ذَكَرتُكَ فَاِنهَلَّت دُموعي تَأَسُّفاً

وَحُقَّ للدَمعي أَن يَجودَ وَيَهمِلا

I remembered you and my tears poured in sorrow

It is right for my tears to flow and neglect all else