مَلِلتُ الكَتابةَ دهراً طويلاً

مَلِلتُ الكَتابةَ دهراً طويلاً

عزَفتُ وما كنتُ أرتَادُها

عزَفتُ وما كنتُ أرتَادُها

I grew weary of writing for a long time.

I grew weary of writing for a long time

I turned away, and I had not been seeking it.

I gave it up, though it was not my habit

ومن مِحنَة النَّفسِ تُفسِدُها

ومن مِحنَة النَّفسِ تُفسِدُها

بمَا لا يُنَاط به سَعدُها

بمَا لا يُنَاط به سَعدُها

And among the soul's trials is that you corrupt it

And the soul's suffering corrupts it

With what its happiness does not depend upon.

With what does not fulfill its happiness

تُريكَ المعَاليَ تاجا على

تُريكَ المعَاليَ تاجا على

مفَارِقَ لا حلمَ يَعتَادُها

مفَارِقَ لا حلمَ يَعتَادُها

It shows you lofty rank as a crown upon

It shows you the high ideals as a crown on

Heads that good sense never visits.

One who parts, not dreaming to aspire to them

ولَو أنصفَ الدهرُ بينَ الورَى

ولَو أنصفَ الدهرُ بينَ الورَى

لسالمَتِ النَّاسَ اضدَادُها

لسالمَتِ النَّاسَ اضدَادُها

And if time dealt justly among humankind,

If fate dealt justly among mankind

People's adversaries would make peace with them.

Its opposites would reconcile them

لهَان عَلى النَّفسِ حُسَّادُها

لهَان عَلى النَّفسِ حُسَّادُها

لهَان على النَّاس إنجَادُها

لهَان على النَّاس إنجَادُها

Its enviers would be of little account to the soul;

But envy overcomes the soul

Coming to its aid would be easy for people.

And attacking others becomes its habit

ومَا دامت النَّفسُ مُختَارة

ومَا دامت النَّفسُ مُختَارة

فيا شَرَّ من يَمطِي قُصَّادُهَا

فيا شَرَّ من يَمطِي قُصَّادُهَا

And as long as the soul remains free to choose,

As long as the soul has free choice

Then, O worst of those whom its seekers ride!

What an evil mount to ride is its caprice