وقفتُ على رسمٍ ببيداءَ بلقعِ

خليٍّ من النّادي صَموتٍ إذا دُعي

I stood upon a ruin in the wilderness,

Empty of folk, still from all calling out,

نَبتْ عنه عَيني ثم قال لَها الهَوى

هي الدّارُ فاستمْرِي شُؤونَكِ وادمَعي

My eyes rained tears and then love said to them,

"This is the abode so pour down your rains and weep,

ولا تُنكِري للدّهرِ إخلاقَ جدّةٍ

وتَشتيتَ أُلاَّفٍ وإيحاشَ مَجمَعِ

And do not deny that time has traits of one grown old,

Scattering of friends and shunning of meeting place,

فللموتِ سُكّانُ الديارِ ولِلبَلى

مَنازِلُهم وشَملُهُم للتّصَدُّعِ

For death has people of the house as residents,

And their homes are for decay and their state for crumbling,

فصبراً فإنْ عزَّتْ نوائبُ دهرِنا

وأحداثُه حُسنَ التَّصبُّرِ فاجزِعِ

So show patience, for if our time's calamities are burdensome,

And its events difficult, patience makes them easier, so grieve."