1. From a quarter are you seeking news
Though its dwellings have become desolate?

2. In my heart is love for the ruins
A love nothing can displace

3. Desist from this preoccupation
For love is he who slays it

4. Sparrows flutter in his breast
While his beloved is asleep

5. Most deserving of reverence
Is he whose merits one hopes to gain

6. I have seen the noblest virtues
That which its vessels contain

7. I see no man among people
Unless merit makes him excel

8. His tongue speaks only good
And his hands quickly fulfill

9. Whatever good is hoped for
It is merit that undertakes it