أَبَت شَفَتايَ اليَومَ إِلّا تَكَلُّماً

بِشَرٍّ فَما أَدري لِمَن أَنا قائِلُه

My lips today refused all but to speak

Of glad tidings, though who it’s for I do not know

أَرى لِيَ وَجهاً شَوَّهَ اللَهُ خَلقَهُ

فَقُبِّحَ مِن وَجهٍ وَقُبِّحَ حامِلُه

I see a face, one marred by God in its making

Ugly in visage, ugly in the one who bears it