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Deem not, O youth, that I to thee incline; indeed, no part Have I in those who walk the ways, the children of the tent.[1]
In the wide world no house thou hast, a homeless wanderer thou: To thine own place thou shall be borne, an object for lament.[2]
Forbear thy verse-making, O thou that harbourest in the camp, Lest to the gleemen thou become a name of wonderment.
How many a lover, who aspires to union with his love, For all his hopes seem near, is baulked of that whereon he’s bent!
Then get thee gone nor covet that which thou shall ne’er obtain; So shall it be, although the time seem near and the event.
Thus unto thee have I set forth my case; consider well My words, so thou mayst guided be aright by their intent.
When she had made an end of her verses, she folded the letter and delivered it to the nurse, who took it and went with it to El Abbas. When she gave it to him, he took it and breaking it open, read it and apprehended its purport; and when he came to the end of it, he swooned away. After awhile, he came to himself and said, “Praised be God who hath caused her return an answer to my letter! Canst thou carry her another letter, and with God the Most High be thy requital?” Quoth she, “And what shall letters profit thee, seeing she answereth on this wise?” But he said, “Belike, she may yet be softened.” Then he took inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses:
Thy letter reached me; when the words thou wrot’st therein I read, My longing waxed and pain and woe redoubled on my head.
Yea, wonder-words I read therein, my trouble that increased And caused emaciation wear my body to a shred.
