كايَدَكُم دَهرُكُم بِزامِرَةٍ

تُحدِثُ غَمّاً في كُلِّ سَراءِ

The days have played for you on a flute

That brought grief to every happiness.

فَاِربُطوا شَدقَها إِذا نَفَخَت

فَذاكَ أَولى بِها مِنَ الناءِ

So when it blew tie fast its lips -

That suits it better than sighing.