لِيَ بَعْلٌ ظَنَّهُ النَّاسُ أَبِي

صَدِّقُونِي إِنَّهُ غَيْرُ أَبِي

I have a husband whom people mistook for my father;

Believe me when I say he is truly not my father.

وَاعْدِلُوا عَنْ لَوْمِ مَنْ لَوْ مَزَجَتْ

مَا بِهَا بِالْمَاءِ لَمْ يُسْتَعْذَبِ

Cease blaming one whose inner bitterness,

If mixed with sweet water, would render it unpalatable.

رُبَّ لَوْمٍ لَمْ يُفِدْ إِلَّا الْعَنَا

كَمْ سِهَامٍ سُدِّدَتْ لَمْ تَصِبِ؟

For how often does blame yield nothing but distress?

And how many arrows, though aimed, have failed to strike?

يَشْتَكِي الْمَرْءُ لِمَنْ يَرْثِي لَهُ

رُبَّ شَكْوَى خَفَّفَتْ مِنْ نَصَبِ

A person complains only to those who offer pity,

For often a complaint lightens the burden of toil.

زَعَمُوا أَنَّ الْغَوَانِي لِعَبٌ

إِنَّمَا اللُّعْبَةُ طَبْعًا لِلصَّبِي

They claimed that fair maidens are but playthings,

Yet surely, by nature, a toy belongs to a young boy.

وَأَنَا مَا زِلْتُ فِي شَرْخِ الصِّبَا

فَلِمَاذَا فَرَّطَ الْأَهْلُونَ بِي؟

And I remain yet in the very flower of my youth,

So why have my kin cast me away so carelessly?

لِيَ قَدٌّ وَجَمَالٌ يَزْدَرِي

ذَاكَ بِالْغُصْنِ وَذَا بِالْكَوْكَبِ

I possess a figure and beauty that look with disdain—

The former upon the willow branch, the latter upon the stars.

قَدْ جَرَى حُبُّ الْعُلَا مَجْرَى دَمِي

فَهْيَ سُؤْلِي وَالْوَفَا مِنْ مَشْرَبِي

The love of high virtue courses through my veins like blood;

It is my sole desire, and loyalty is the spring from which I drink.

أَنَا، لَوْ يَعْلَمُ أَهْلِي، دُرَّةٌ

ظُلِمَتْ فِي الْبَيْعِ كَالْمَخْشَلَبِ

I am—if only my family knew—a precious pearl,

Unjustly traded away as if it were mere glass.

أَخَذُوا الدِّينَارَ مِنِّي بَدَلًا

أَتُرَانِي سِلْعَةً لِلْمَكْسَبِ؟

They accepted the dinar in exchange for me;

Do they deem me a mere commodity for profit?

لَا، وَلَكِنْ رَاعَهُمْ عَصْرٌ بِهِ

سَادَ فِي الْفِتْيَانِ حُبُّ الذَّهَبِ

No, but they were swayed by an age wherein

The love of gold holds dominion over the hearts of young men.

لَيْسَ لِلْآدَابِ قَدْرٌ بَيْنَهُمْ

آهِ لَوْ كَانَ نُضَارًا أَدَبِي!

Literature and culture hold no worth in their eyes;

Ah, would that my poetry were minted gold!

حَسِبُونِي حِينَ لَازَمْتُ الْبُكَا

طِفْلَةً أَجْهَلُ مَا يَدْرِي أَبِي

They mistook me, when I clung to constant weeping,

For a naive child, ignorant of what my father knows.

ثُمَّ بِالْغُولِ أَبِي هَدَّدَنِي

أَيْنَ مِنْ غُولِ الْمَنَايا مَهْرَبِي؟

Then my father threatened me with the Ghoul;

Yet where is my escape from the true monster of Death?

أَشْيَبٌ لَوْ أَنَّهُ يَخْشَى الدُّجَى

شَابَ ذُعْرًا مِنْهُ رَأْسُ الْغَيْهَبِ

A gray-haired man who, were he to fear the night,

The very head of darkness would turn white in terror of him.

لَيْتَ مَا بَيْنِي وَبَيْنَ النَّومِ مِنْ

فُرْقَةٍ بَيْنِي وَبَيْنَ الْأَشْيَبِ

Would that the distance currently between me and sleep

Were the distance separating me from this hoary elder.

يَا لَهُ فَظًّا كَثِيرَ الْحُزْنِ لَا

يَعْرِفُ الْأُنْسَ قَلِيلَ الطَّرَبِ

Oh, what a boorish soul, heavy with gloom, who does not

Know companionship, and possesses scant mirth.

يُخْضِبُ الشَّعْرَ وَلَكِنْ عَبَثًا

لَيْسَ تَخْفَى لُغَةُ الْمُسْتَعْرِبِ

He dyes his hair, yet it is all in vain;

The tongue of the pretender cannot be concealed.

قُلْ لِأَهْلِ الْأَرْضِ لَا تَخْشُوا الرَّدَى

إِنَّهُ مُشْتَغِلٌ فِي طَلَبِي

Tell the people of the earth: do not fear Death,

For he is entirely occupied in pursuing me.

وَلِمَنْ يَعْجَبُ مِنْ بُغْضِي لَهُ

أَيُّهَا الْجَاهِلُ أَمْرِي اتَّئِبِ

And to the one who marvels at my loathing for him,

O you who are ignorant of my plight, hold your judgment.

إِنَّمَا الْغُصْنُ إِذَا هَبَّ الْهَوَا

مَالَ لِلْأَغْصَانِ لَا لِلْحَطَبِ

For truly, when the wind blows, the slender branch

Inclines toward living boughs, not toward dead firewood.

وَإِذَا الْمَرْءُ قَضَى عَصْرَ الصِّبَا

صَارَ أَوْلَى بِالرَّدَى مِنْ مَذْهَبِي

And when a man has spent the era of his youth,

He becomes more suited for the grave than for my path.