ولّى شبابي وَرَاعَ شَيبْي

مِنّيَ سِرْبَ المَها وَفَضّهْ

My youth has passed and old age startles me,

The birds of my youth have flown away.

كَأَنَّما المشطُ في يَميني

تَجُرُّ مِنهُ خُيوطَ فِضّه

As if the comb in my right hand

Is pulling out threads of pure silver.