أَجِزْ لَنا يا مَنْ نَرَى طِرْفَهُ

في حَلْبَةِ النَّظْمِ غَدا فَارِها

Grant us, O you whose gaze we see

In the arena of rhythm tomorrow boiling over.

أصْبَحْتَ أَرْضَى كُلَّ ما تَرْتَضِي

ولِلَّذي تَكْرَهُهُ كارِها

You have become the most pleased with all you are pleased with

And hating that which you hate.