مَنَحْتُكَ أَلْقَابَ الْعُلا فَادْعُنِي بِاسْمِي

فَمَا تَخْفِضُ الأَلْقَابُ حُرّاً وَلا تُسْمِي

You granted me titles of nobility, so call me by my name,

For titles do not lower the freeborn, nor do they define.

إِذَا كَانَ عُقْبَانُ الْجَدِيدِ إِلَى بِلَىً

فَلا فَرْقَ مَا بَيْنَ الْحَدِيثِ وَلا الرَّسْمِ

When the patina of newness on a sword wears down to nothing,

There's no difference between new and old in name or form.

تَأَمَّلْ إِلَى الدُّنْيَا بِعَيْنٍ بَصِيرَةٍ

لَعَلَّكَ تَرْضَى بِالْقَلِيلِ مِنَ الْقَسْمِ

Look upon this world with discerning eyes,

Perhaps you'll be content with the little your lot assigns.

فَمَا الْعَيْشُ إِلَّا خَطْرَةٌ عَرَضِيَّةٌ

تَزُولُ كَمَا زَالَ الْحَثِيثُ مِنَ النَّسْمِ

For what is life but a fleeting, chance adventure

That passes like a gentle breeze's sigh?

وَهَلْ نَحْنُ إِلَّا مِثْلُ مَنْ كَانَ قَبْلَنَا

فَسَلْ عَنْ جَدِيسٍ أَيْنَ وَلَّتْ وَعَنْ طَسْمِ

Are we not like those who lived before us?

Ask of Decimus, where did he go? And of Tasimus?

تَزَوَّدْ مِنَ الدُّنْيَا بِمَا فِيهِ بُلْغَةٌ

فَسَوْفَ تُعَانِي الْجَدْبَ يَا رَاعِيَ الْوَسْمِي

Take from this life what perfects it,

For you will suffer drought, O herder of the branded sheep!

لَعَمْرِي لَنِعْمَ الْمَرْءُ مَنْ بَاتَ رَاضِياً

بِمَا خَصَّهُ مِنْ فَيْضِهِ سَابِقُ الرَّسْمِ

By my life! Happy is the man who sleeps content

With what he's apportioned of its flowing grace.

تَفَلْسَفَ قَوْمٌ فِي الْمَقَالِ وَمَا دَرَوْا

جَرِيرَةَ مَا أَبْقَوا عَلَى الدَّهْرِ مِنْ وَسْمِ

Some philosophized in maxims but never grasped

The essence of what little legacy time leaves behind.

وَلَوْ رَاجَعُوا هَذِي النُّفُوسَ لَعَالَجُوا

بِتَرْكِ الْخَطَايَا مُعْضِلَ الدَّاءِ بِالْحَسْمِ

If only they'd look within themselves, they could treat

The crux of every ill by decisively cutting it out.

فَدَعْ هَذِهِ الدُّنْيَا وَإِنْ هِيَ أَقْبَلَتْ

عَلَيْكَ بِإِيمَاضِ الْبَشَاشَةِ وَالْبَسْمِ

So leave this world be, even if it draws close

With a welcoming smile and shining face.

فَلَوْ جَرَّبَ الإِنْسَانُ أَخْلاقَ دَهْرِهِ

لأَمْسَكَ بِالْيَأْسِ الْمُرِيحِ عَنِ الْعسْمِ

Had man but tried the varying tempers of time,

He'd cleave to hopelessness, his soothing balm.

فَمَنْ لِي بِرَأْيٍ صَادِقٍ أَقْتَفِي بِهِ

مَدَارِجَ قَوْمٍ أَدْرَكُوا الأَمْرَ بِالْقَسْمِ

Who can advise me with wisdom true,

To climb the ranks of those who've won the prize?

بَرَتْنِي تَبَارِيحُ الْحَيَاةِ فَلَمْ تَدَعْ

لَدَيَّ سِوَى رُوحٍ تَرَدَّدَ فِي جِسْمِ

Time's winds have relinquished me, leaving naught

But a spirit lingering in my frame.

يَقُولُونَ مَحْمُودٌ وَيَا لَيْتَ أَنَّنِي

كَمَا زَعَمُوا أَوْلَيْتَ لِي طَائِعاً كَاسْمِي

"It's Mahmud," they say, "if only I were

As obedient to them as my name implies!"