أَفنى الشَبابَ الَّذي فارَقتُ بَهجَتَهُ
كَرُّ الجَديدَينِ مِن آتٍ وَمُنطلِقِ
The youth whose radiance I have left behind was consumed
The youth whose radiance I have lost was consumed
by the ceaseless turning of the two renewers—one arriving, one departing.
By the recurring passage of day and night, one coming and one departing.
لَم يَترُكا ليَ في طولِ اِختِلافِهِما
شَيئاً أَخافُ عَليهِ لَذعَةَ الحَدَقِ
Through all their long alternation, they have left me
Through their long alternation, they have left me
nothing for which I fear the sting of envious eyes.
Nothing for which I fear the sting of eyes.
قَد كُنتُ أَرتاعُ لِلبَيضاءَ أَنظُرُها
في شَعرِ رَأسي وَقَد أَيقَنتُ بِالبَلقِ
Once I would start in alarm at a white hair I glimpsed
I used to take fright at a white hair I saw
among the hair of my head, though I knew the grizzling must come.
In the hair on my head, already certain of its mingled black and white.
وَالآن حينَ خَضَبتُ الرأسَ فارَقَني
ما كُنتُ أَلتَذُّ مِن عَيشي وَمِن خُلُقي
And now, when I have dyed my head, there has left me
And now that I have dyed my hair, I have lost
all I once took pleasure in—both in my life and in my disposition.
What I once enjoyed in my life and my temperament.
Sol 6.1