1. قِفْ نَبكِ أبياتَ القَريضِ فَإنَّها

    أقْوتْ وكَمْ حُرِسَتْ مِن الإقواءِ

    Stop; let us weep for poetry’s verses, for they

    have fallen desolate—and how often they were guarded against discordant rhyme!

  2. ولَقَدْ يَقِلُّ لها بأَنْ تَبَلي دَمَاً

    مَحْضاً لِوَحشتِها مِن الكُرَمَاءِ

    And indeed, even if you [wept] blood for them, it would be too little—

    pure blood, for their desolation, bereft of the generous.