ماء الحياة بشعري ثَمَّ منبعه

ما الشعر لم يَتَمثَّلْ كائنا حيا؟

In my poetry lies the spring of the Water of Life.

What is poetry if it does not take form as a living being?

على محياه يبدو وجْهُ صاحبه

إن اختفى وجه ذا فالشعر لا شيَّا

Upon its countenance appears the face of its poet.

If this face of his is hidden, poetry is nothing.

كن شاعرا يتمرأى في قصيدته

يراه قارئه يمشي بها مشيا

Be a poet mirrored in his poem,

whom its reader sees walking through it—truly walking.

يجني القوافي من الإلهام يانعة

خيل القريض له تجري و لا تعيا

He harvests rhymes from inspiration, fresh and ripe;

the steeds of verse run for him and never tire.

يسقيه من نبضه صدقا و يترعه

شدوا و معنى جميلا يوقظ الوعيا

From his pulse he gives it truth to drink, and fills it

with song and a beautiful meaning that awakens awareness.

لا يشبع المتلقي من فواكهه

و عنه ليس يطيق البعد و النأيا

Its recipient never has enough of its fruits,

nor can they bear distance or remoteness from it.

هذا هو الشعر في أنقى معادنه

فاحذرْ به الشوْبَ يا ذا الذوقِ و الليّا

This is poetry in the purest of its ores;

so guard it from admixture, O you of discerning taste, and from distortion.