ما لِلمَنِيَّةِ لا تَزالُ مُلِحَّةً

تَعدو عَلَيَّ وَما أُطيقُ قِتالَها

Death, you are ever so bitter,

Assailing me when I've no strength left to fight.

تَسقي المُلوكَ بِكَأسِ حَتفٍ مُرَّةٍ

وَلِتُلبِسَنَّكَ إِن بَقيتَ جَلالَها

You serve kings a cup of vile poison,

And if they live, clothe them in your gown.

أَردَت أَغَرَّ مِنَ المُلوكِ مُتَوَّجاً

وَرِثَ النُبُوَّةَ بَدرَها وَهِلالَها

You took one more splendid than crowned kings -

Inheritor of the Prophet's light and glory.

أَغنى العُفاةِ بِنائِلٍ مُتَدَفِّقٍ

مَلءَ البِلادَ دَوافِعاً فَأَسالَها

You left the destitute gushing tears,

Flooding every land with sorrows for him.