1. The abode of separation has rendered me mute,
Stripped of speech, in silence absolute.

2. A lover lent confusion his bewilderment,
When he saw his beloved, stupefied, mute.

3. No wonder the inkwell ran dry,
When sleep was the writer’s only pursuit,

4. And coffee, musk-scented,
From Annabar its abode, or Hīt’s repute,

5. As though it were the sun unveiled
Whose dwelling, Pisces or the whale acute,

6. Or the moon’s configuration at full phase,
When the timing of watches is astute,

7. As if it were, in its beauty, that one,
Or the face of Abbas when he salutes,

8. Nay, the face of Abbas has its beauty,
For it is a pearl and ruby to boot.