يا شاعِراً حُلوَ المَوَدَّةِ

في الحُضور وَفي الغِيابِ

O poet of sweet affection,

Present in presence and in absence,

شَهدٌ وَلاأُك وَالأَنامُ

وَلائُهُم شَهدٌ وَصاب

Your loyalty is pure honey, while others—

Their loyalty is honey mixed with bitter herbs.

أَنا إِن شَكَوتُ إِلَيكَ مِنـ

ـكَ وَسالَ في كُتُبي العِتاب

If I complain to you about you,

And reproach flows through my letters,

فَحِكايَتي كَحِكايَةِ الظَمآ

نِ في قَفرٍ يَباب

My story is like that of a thirsty man

In a desolate, barren wasteland.

لَم يَروِهِ لَمعُ السَرابِ فَرا

حَ يَستَسقي السَحاب

The mirage’s shimmer did not quench him, so he went

To seek rain directly from the clouds,

فَهَمى فَكانَ الخَيرُ فيـ

ـهِ لِلأَباطِح وَالهِضابِ

And it poured down, bringing goodness

To the wide valleys and the hills.

مَسعودُ أَهوِن بِالمَشيـ

ـبِ فَما اِمَّحى إِلّا الخُضاب

Massoud, make light of graying hair,

For nothing has faded but the dye.

ما ذا عَلَيكَ مِنَ الثُلوجِ

وَفي ضُلوعِكَ حَرُّ أَب

What does the snow upon your head matter to you,

When the heat of August burns within your ribs?

وَالكَأسُ أَجمَلُ في النَوا

ظِرِ إِذ يُرَصِّعُها الحَباب

The cup appears more beautiful to the eye

When it is crowned with sparkling bubbles.

إِن شابَ مِنكَ المَفرِقانِ

فَما أَظُنُّ القَلبَ شاب

If the parting of your hair has turned white,

I do not believe the heart has aged.

لا تَزعَمَنَّ لَهُ المَتابَ

فَإِنَّ تَوبَتُهُ كِذاب

Do not claim repentance for it,

For its repentance would be a lie.

ما زالَ يَخفِقُ بِالهَوى

وَيَفيضُ بِالسِحرِ العُجاب

It still beats with passion,

And overflows with wondrous magic,

وَيُريكَ دُنيا لا تُحَدُّ وَ

مِن وَرائِكَ أَلفُ باب

Showing you a boundless world,

While a thousand doors lie behind you.

دُنيا مِنَ اللَذات وَالأَف

راحِ في دُنيا عَذاب

A world of pleasures and joys

Amidst a world of torment.

وَيُريكَ جَنّاتِ الجَمالِ

وَأَنتَ في الطَلَلِ الخَراب

It shows you gardens of beauty

Even while you stand in ruins.

أَفتى القَوافي الشادِياتِ

كَأَنَّها أَطيارُ غاب

You gave voice to singing rhymes,

As if they were birds of the forest.

إِن قيلَ إِنَّكَ صِرتَ شَيخاً

قُل أَجَل شَيخُ الشَباب

If it is said that you have become an old man,

Say: Yes, the Sheikh of Youth.

أَتَرى إِذا العُنوانُ ضاعَ

يَضيعُ مَضمونُ الكِتاب

Do you think that if the title is lost,

The content of the book is lost as well?

السَيفُ لَيسَ يُعيبُهُ مَشـ

ـيُ الخَلوقَةِ في القِراب

The sword is not flawed by the wearing away

Of the scabbard's ornamentation.

وَالخَمرُ خَمرٌ في إِنا

ءٍ مِن لُجَينٍ أَو تُراب

And wine remains wine, whether in a vessel

Of silver or of clay.

وَحَياةُ مِثلِكَ لَيسَ تَد

خُلُ في قِياسٍ أَو حِساب

The life of one like you does not

Fall under measurement or calculation.

فَغَدٌ زَمانَكَ مِثلُ أَمسٍ

وَإِن مَضى عَصرُ الشَباب

For your tomorrow is just like your yesterday,

Even if the era of youth has passed.

لا يُدرِكُ الهرِمُ النُجومَ

وَأَنتَ في الدُنيا شَهاب

Senility does not overtake the stars,

And you, in this world, are a meteor.

وَإِذا يُعابُ عَلى المَشيبِ

فَتى فَمَن ذا لا يُعاب

If a man is faulted for gray hair,

Then who is the one free from fault?

أَو كانَ يَمدَحُ بِالسَوادِ

فَمَن تُرى مَدَحَ الغُراب

Or if one praises hair for its blackness,

Then who, tell me, praises the crow?

يا نَفحَةً مِن شاعِرٍ

أَرَجَ الكِتابُ بِها وَطاب

O fragrance from a poet,

By which the book became scented and sweet,

الفَجرُ أَهدى لِيَ السَنا

وَالرَوضُ لِيَ المَلاب

Dawn has gifted me light,

And the garden has gifted me perfumes.