يا جَلالَ الدينِ يامَو

لىً عَطاياهُ غُيوثُ

O Jalal al-Din, O shelter,

His gifts are relief,

وَجَواداً لَيسَ لِلما

لِ بِكَفّيهِ لُبوث

And generous without

Holding back aught in his palms.

مَن لَهُ الرُعبُ سَرايا

في الأَعادي وَبُعوثُ

He who has awe as his horsemen

Against enemies and troops,

يا اِبنَ مَن طابَ بِأَفعا

لِهِمُ الدَهرُ الخَبيثُ

O son of one whose righteous deeds

Have made vile time sweeten,

فَهُمُ في الجَدبِ وَالحَر

بِ سُيولٌ وَلُيوثُ

So they, in drought and war

Are streams and flashes of lightning.

ما لِماءِ الوَردِ يا مَن

خُلقُهُ سَهلٌ دَميثُ

What is with rose-water, O he

Whose nature is gentle and new,

قَد مَضى العامُ وَلَم يَج

رِ لَنا فيهِ حَديثُ

The year has passed and there has not

Occurred for us in it anything.

أَنا مِن مَطلِ شَرابي

يِكَ شاكٍ مُستَغيثُ

I am seeking drink from you,

Thirsty and begging for help,

حَبَشِيٌّ شَرِسُ الأَخ

لاقِ كَالصِلِّ نَفوثُ

Abyssinian, fierce of manners

Like sparks bursting out,

وَجهُهُ مِن دونِ مَعرو

فِكَ سِكرٌ وَمُريثُ

His face without your acquaintance

Is drunkenness and sickness,

وَوَراءَ المَطلِ مِنه

طالِبٌ مِنّي حَثيثُ

And behind the tavern from him

Is a persistent beggar,

وَهوَ لا يَسخو بِهِ أَو

يَدخُلَ الوَردُ الحَديثُ

And he neither rewards with it nor

Does fresh roses enter.