فَديتُ فَتىً ما زالَ ثاقِبُ فِكرِهِ

يُقَلّدُ دراً مِن نَفائِسِ نظمِهِ

I ransom a young man whose piercing intellect remains,

Who strings pearls of poetry with eloquence,

فَلا زالَ في كُلِّ الأُمورِ مُظَفَّراً

بِطولِ أَياديهِ وَصادِقِ عَزمِهِ

And in all matters remains ever triumphant,

With the length of his hands and his true determination,

أَجِدَّكَ ما تَنفَكُّ تُلغِزُ مُشكلاً

تُقَصِّرُ أَلبابُ الوَرى دونَ فهمِهِ

I find you continually posing a riddle,

Which the intellects of people fall short of grasping,

وَقَد ضاعَ مِن أَنفاسِ نظمِكَ نَفحَةٌ

مِنَ المِسكِ فَاجعَلها فِداماً لِختمِهِ

And your breath of poetry gives off a fragrance,

Of musk, so let it be a ransom for its final verse.