قُتِلَ الشَعرُ مِن خَفيفٍ ثَقيلٍ

قُتِلَ الشَعرُ مِن خَفيفٍ ثَقيلٍ

وَكَثيرٍ عَلى الرُؤوسِ قَليلِ

وَكَثيرٍ عَلى الرُؤوسِ قَليلِ

Poetry was slain by a ponderous “Light,”

A curse on hair—light yet burdensome,

and abundance upon people’s heads is scarce.

and plentiful upon heads, yet scant.

ضَيِّقُ الشَعرِ حينَ طالَ قَليلاً

ضَيِّقُ الشَعرِ حينَ طالَ قَليلاً

ضامَهُ اللَهُ مِن قَصيرٍ طَويلِ

ضامَهُ اللَهُ مِن قَصيرٍ طَويلِ

Hair oppressed me when it grew a little long;

Hair is oppressive when it grows a little;

God confound it—what a long little thing!

may God bring it low—short yet long!

إِنَّما الحَلقُ راحَةٌ وَجَمالُ

إِنَّما الحَلقُ راحَةٌ وَجَمالُ

فَاِشدُدِ الكَفَّ بِالمُريحِ الجَميلِ

فَاِشدُدِ الكَفَّ بِالمُريحِ الجَميلِ

Shaving alone is comfort—and beauty.

Shaving is nothing but relief and beauty;

So ply a firm hand with the lovely bringer of relief.

so grasp firmly in your hand what soothes and is beautiful.

ما أَرى لِلحُسامِ يَصدَأُ حُسناً

ما أَرى لِلحُسامِ يَصدَأُ حُسناً

إِنَّما الحُسنُ لِلحُسامِ الصَقيلِ

إِنَّما الحُسنُ لِلحُسامِ الصَقيلِ

I see no beauty in a blade when it rusts;

I see no beauty in a sword that rusts;

beauty belongs only to the burnished blade.

beauty belongs only to the polished sword.