1. إرْبَأْ بِنَفْسِكَ أَنْ تَكُونَ نَجِيبَا

    وازْجُرْ خَلِيلَكَ أَنْ يَكُونَ أدِيبَا

    Spare yourself from being gifted,

    And deter your close friend from becoming a man of letters.

  2. فَلَقَدْ أَرَى مَوْتَ الأَدِيبِ حَيَاتَهُ

    وَالْعَيْشَ مَوْتَاً يَلْتَقِيهِ ضُرُوباً

    For I see the writer's death as his life,

    And life as death he meets in many forms.

  3. وَأَرَى جَوَائِزَ فَضْلِهِ وَعُلُومِهِ

    إِعْسَارَهُ وَالدَّاءَ وَالتَّعْذِيْبَا

    And I see the rewards of his merit and learning

    As his poverty, sickness, and torment.

  4. يَا لَلذَّكَاءِ يُنِيرُنَا بِضِيَاِئهِ

    وَيَكُونُ لِلجِسْمِ المُضيءِ مُذِيبَا

    Ah, intelligence! It lights us with its radiance,

    Yet melts away the body that shines.

  5. يَا لَلْعُلُومِ نَظُنُّهَا نِعَماً لَنَا

    فَنُصِيبُهَا نِقَمَاً لَنَا وَخُطُوبَا

    Ah, the sciences! We think them blessings for us,

    Yet find them afflictions and calamities for us.

  6. مَاذَا أَفَادَكَ أَنْ تَكُونَ مُحَرِّرَاً

    وَمُحَبِّرَاً وَمُفَوَّهاً وَلَبِيبَا

    What did it profit you to be a writer,

    And an elegant stylist, eloquent and discerning?

  7. مَاذَا أَفَادَكَ كُلُّ نَظْمٍ شَائِقٍ

    لَفْظَاً وَمَعْنىً رَائِقٍ أُسْلُوبَا

    What did all your captivating verse avail you,

    In word and meaning, exquisite in style—

  8. مِنْ كُلِّ مُبْتَكَرٍ أَغَرَّ مُحَجَّبٍ

    إِلاَّ عَلَيْكَ فَلَمْ يَكُنْ مَحْجُوبَا

    Every radiant invention, veiled from all

    But you, from whom it was not hidden,

  9. وَمُجَدَّدٍ كَالدُّرِّ يُبْدَلُ صَوْغُهُ

    فَتَخَالُهُ عَيْنُ الخَبِيرِ قَشِيبَا

    And every renewed work, like pearls whose setting is changed,

    So the expert's eye deems it brand-new?

  10. نَظْمٌ تَزِيدُ بِهِ الحَقِيقَةَ رَوْنَقَاً

    وَتُعِيدُ مُبْتَذَلَ الأُمُورِ غَرِيبَا

    Verse with which you lend truth greater splendor,

    And make commonplace things wondrous anew;

  11. كَالشَّمْسِ يَسْطُعُ نورُهَا فِي حَمْأَةٍ

    فَيُحِيلُ قَاتِمَ لَوْنَِهَا تَذْهِيبَا

    Like the sun, whose light shines into mire,

    Turning its dark hue to gold.

  12. يَا خَيْرَ مَنْ خَطَّ الرَّثَاءَ لَوَ أَنَّهُ

    يَجْرِي لَسَالَ مَحَاجراً وَقُلُوبَا

    O finest of those who penned elegies—if yours

    Could flow, it would pour forth eye sockets and hearts!

  13. هَلاَّ نَعَيْتَ بِهِ شَبَابَكَ قَبْلَ أَن

    تُنْعَى مُحِبَّاً رَاحِلاً وَحِبِيبَا

    Why did you not lament your youth in it, before

    You were mourned as a departed lover and beloved?

  14. يَا نَاسِجاً بُرْدَ الرِّوَايَاتِ الَّتِي

    تَرْمِي بِهَا الْغَرَضَ الشَّرِيفَ مُصِيبَا

    O weaver of the mantle of tales,

    With which you strike the noble target, unerring,

  15. هَلاَّ قَصَصْتَ حَدِيْثَ شَهْمٍ لَمْ يُصِبْ

    غَيْرَ الشَّقَاءِ مِنَ الذَّكَاءِ نَصِيبَا

    Why did you not tell the story of a noble man who gained

    No share from intelligence other than misery?

  16. غُصْنٌ نَمَا حَتّى زَكَتْ أَثْمَارُهُ

    فَرَمَاُ كَيْدُ زَمَانِهِ مَقْضُوبَا

    A branch that grew until its fruits ripened,

    Then the malice of its age cast it down, severed.

  17. فَمَضَيْتَ مَبْكِيّاً وَمَا يُغْنِيكَ لَوْ

    أَنَّ مَلأْنَا الخَافِقِينِ نَحِيبَا

    So you departed, mourned; nor would it help you if

    We filled both horizons with wailing.

  18. هَذَا جَزَاؤُكَ فَاضِلاً فِي أُمَّةٍ

    مَا زَالَ فِيهَا الأَلْمَعِيُّ غَرِيبَا

    Such is your reward as a man of merit in a nation

    Where the brilliant mind has always been a stranger.

  19. يَتَفَكَّهُ النَّفَرُ الأَفَاضِلُ مِنْهُمُ

    بِجَنَ حَيَاتِكَ شَاعِراً وأرِيبَا

    The worthy few among them find delight

    In the fruit of your life as poet and sage.

  20. يَتَفَكَّهُونَ بأحْرُفٍ أَوْدَعْتَهَا

    تَلْخِيصَ عُمْرِكَ مَشْرٌقاً وَمَغِيبَا

    They delight in letters in which you laid

    The sum of your life, its sunrise and sunset.

  21. مَهْلاً وَدَاعِكَ لِلْحَيَاةِ تَخَطُّهُ

    مِنْ مُهْجَةٍ كَادَتْ تَجِفُّ نُضُوبَا

    Gently—you inscribe your farewell to life

    From a heart almost drained dry.

  22. نَفَثَاتُ مَصْدُورٍ عَلَتْ زَفَرَاتُهُ

    حَتَّى نَرَى التَّصْعِيدَ وَالتَّصْوِيبَا

    A chest-stricken man's outpourings, his sighs rising so high

    That we see their ascent and descent.

  23. عَبَرَاتُ مُحْتَضَرٍ يُضِيءُ كَشَمْعَةٍ

    تَفْنَى وَتُرْسِلُ دَمْعَهَا مَسْكُوبَا

    The tears of a dying man who shines like a candle

    That wastes away and pours out its tears.

  24. كَلِمٌ كَسَتْهُنَّ الْكَآبَةُ لَوْنَهَا

    فَحَكَيْنَ أَنْوَارَ الزَّوَالِ غُرُوبَا

    Words that sorrow clothed in its own color,

    So they resembled fading lights at sunset.

  25. فَارْقُدْ كَمَا أحْرَى الرَّدَى وَهْوَ الكَرَى

    أَنْ يُسْتَطَابَ عَلَى الأَسَى فَيَطيبَا

    So sleep—how fitting that death, itself a slumber,

    Should be preferred to sorrow, and thus prove sweet.

  26. أَلْقَبْرُ أَفَضَلُ الفَتَى مِنْ مَضْجَعٍ

    فِيهِ يُقَلَّبُ مُوجَعاً تَقْلِيبَا

    The grave is better for a young man than a bed

    Where he is turned again and again in pain.

  27. وَجَلاَمِدُ الأَرْمَاسِ أَهْوَنُ مَحْمِلاً

    مِنْ أَنْ يُحَمَّلَ مِثْلَهُنَّ كُرُوبَا

    And the boulders of tombs are lighter to bear

    Than being laden with their like in sorrows.