وَمُعَوَّدٍ لِلكَرِّ في حَمَسِ الوَغى

وَمُعَوَّدٍ لِلكَرِّ في حَمَسِ الوَغى

غادَرتُهُ وَالفَرُّ مِن عاداتِهِ

غادَرتُهُ وَالفَرُّ مِن عاداتِهِ

And many a man accustomed to charging amid battle’s fury—

Persistent in the din of battle's rage,

I left him with flight among his habits.

I left him though he fled in haste away;

حَمَلَ القَناةَ عَلى أَغَرَّ سَمَيذَعٍ

حَمَلَ القَناةَ عَلى أَغَرَّ سَمَيذَعٍ

دَخّالِ مابَينَ الفَتى وَقَناتِهِ

دَخّالِ مابَينَ الفَتى وَقَناتِهِ

He leveled his lance at a radiant, valiant lord,

He rode his steed though stumbling, lame with age,

one who darts between a warrior and his lance.

Between the horse and rider what can stay?

لا أَطلُبُ الرِزقَ الذَليلَ مَنالُهُ

لا أَطلُبُ الرِزقَ الذَليلَ مَنالُهُ

فَوتُ الهَوانِ أَذَلُّ مِن مَقناتِهِ

فَوتُ الهَوانِ أَذَلُّ مِن مَقناتِهِ

I seek no livelihood whose attainment is humiliating;

I do not seek mean sustenance though poor,

to miss it in humiliation is more abasing than to acquire it.

Such abject begging leaves me more ashamed

عَلِقَت بَناتُ الدَهرِ تَطرُقُ ساحَتي

عَلِقَت بَناتُ الدَهرِ تَطرُقُ ساحَتي

لَمّا فَضَلتُ بَنيهِ في حالاتِهِ

لَمّا فَضَلتُ بَنيهِ في حالاتِهِ

Time’s daughters began knocking at my courtyard,

Than poverty. Misfortune's daughters pour

when I surpassed his sons amid his changing fortunes.

Around me now when my own sons are maimed.

فَالحَربُ تَرميني بِبيضِ رِجالِها

فَالحَربُ تَرميني بِبيضِ رِجالِها

وَالدَهرُ يَطرُقُني بِسودِ بَناتِهِ

وَالدَهرُ يَطرُقُني بِسودِ بَناتِهِ

So War hurls her white, noble men at me,

So War assails me with its army's might,

and Time visits me with his black daughters.

And Fate attacks with armies of the night.