أَلا لِلَّهِ ما جَنتِ الخُطوبُ

تُخُرمَ مِن أَحبَتنا حَبيبُ

Alas! What disasters fate has wrought,

Snatching from us a beloved friend.

فَماتَ الشِّعرُ مِن بَعد اِبن أَوس

فَلا أَدَب يُحَسُّ وَلا أَديبُ

Poetry died when Ibn Aws passed on;

No more is literary taste sensed, or talent found.

وَكُنتَ ضَريبَ وَحدِكَ يا اِبنَ أَوس

وَهذا الناسُ أَخلافٌ ضُروبُ

You were in a class of your own, o Ibn Aws!

While this generation is of lesser breeds.

لَئِن قَطَعَتكَ قاطِعَةُ المَنايا

لَمَنكَ وَفيكَ قُطِّعَتِ القُلوبُ

If the terminator of pleasures cut you down,

In grieving for you, hearts are cut to pieces.