عَلَى شَبَابِكِ يُبْكَى

يَا حُرَّةً يَا نَبِيلَهْ

On your youth is wept

O free woman, O noble

أَفِي التُّرَابِ تُوَارَى

تِلْكَ المَعانِي الجمِيلَهْ

Does the dust conceal

Those beautiful meanings

حُسْنٌ تَوَلَّى وَأَبْقَى

عَنْهُ رُسُوماً مَحِيلَهْ

Beauty has turned away, leaving

Traces it made exquisite

جُهْدُ الأَسَى أَنْ تَغِيبِي

وَمَا لِعَوْدٍ وَسِيلَهْ

The toil of grief that you disappear

A wanderer has no way back

نَأْسَى وَنَيْأَسُ حُزْناً

وَلَيْسَ فِي اليَدِ حِيلَهْ

We grieve and despair in sorrow

With no trick up our sleeves