1. I weep for a rock when a turtledove confined
Coos her laments, and the greenish become drab in the valley,

2. When she moans during a repeated gale
And swaying spears like the hue of salt locusts,

3. And a spring amid bent twigs and stirrings,
And the thickets' bendings, neither crooked nor bent.

4. Magnanimous, neither devious nor gloomy,
But valiant like the forest’s wonted lion,

5. From the lions of Bishah who protect the worn garment
Of their clansmen, the nearest and those far away,

6. And who satisfy people should a gritty
Gust blow, dusty, blowing with hot wind.