1. The heavy cloud pours forth its bounty,
drenching a garden whose basil is in bloom—

2. as though the Indian merchants had pitched
their tents awhile, then folded them to resume

3. their journey in the early morning glow.
More fragrant than two garments where happiness

4. alights when the Evening Star gleams from its place
are the tears’ showers unleashed at dusk

5. by eyes that meet no impediment.
The hands of Khirqah—rent and calloused—serve guests

6. a feast that puts the niggardly to shame, arousing spite.
Not even an egg kept warm all night

7. by the hen crouching over it in the high nest
was more snug than he. But when at break of day

8. the sun shines clear and the warblers trill,
wanting to rise, he clears his throat, moves a leg,

9. then folds both his wings and sheds
the dew from his breast in a powdery dust.

10. Leaving behind on the sand a trace of saffron,
he takes flight when the east grows bright with flame,

11. touching more gently than happiness caressed,
more beautifully when it first shows undressed.

12. Yet I do cover my nose safe from blame
if the feeble refuse integrity’s claim.

13. Our houses we built on loyalty’s foundation.
In early days it was our ready store.

14. When we pledged to the son of an uncle protection,
we’d bring it before severity turned sore.

15. To a people of renown we’d tether steeds
and camp while Canopus flared and paled.

16. They’d pitch their castle on a barren plain
facing our dwellings, matching fold with fold.

17. My cares are known to my family entire
when ember after ember bursts into flame.

18. If alarmed or called to bring victory nigher,
we don our iron coats without shame,

19. I swear by Him who gave the life breath
no neighbor forced her, try as duty bid.