1. When the herald brought the news of her to me, I said to her glory,
In eloquence and virtue, a rarity to be heard,

2. She is dark-skinned, though wheat-complexioned,
Quenching thirsts for the eminent and feeding the famished,

3. Noble of lineage, as the dew has proven her
A match when the spinning wheel of fate has tossed about,

4. O House of God’s Bounty, may you remain praised
And your reward a treasure for the destitute shared,

5. Your benevolence waters the plants of praise
A crop that relieves, amazing the farmers,

6. You commission my poems after what
I have endured of my feeble, lost state,

7. How many estates has my state severed
And turned into estates of plenty I have been granted