1. And when the clouds turn dusk, as though
They were ashes of Tharb, red and in turmoil,

2. And chill winds come driving on, as though their ice
Cuts through homes and dwellings like a wedge,

3. And stunted acacia turns to dance before those winds
Toward warmth, while its herder looks askance,

4. We drive the choice milch camels, fawn-skins and whites,
Back to the tribe till mottled dawn relieves all,

5. Slender maidens of the tribe will crouch to kindle our fires
And wayfarers come begging among us, gaunt nomads,

6. And when the horses toss manes between battle ranks,
Riders plunging in the fray, driving and wheeling,

7. The virgins of the tribe will race as though chased
By phantoms, and the tongues of their anklets will jingle,

8. And none will guard the tribe save Ibn Hurra
Invoking blessing on us from that dread partisaning,

9. Till we shall follow the raid at the morrow’s fading
With ever lancer keen and world-wise.

10. And unsaddled camels that had carried fighting men
Shall be recalled by windy sobs of weeping women

11. Made widows, to console themselves with long lament
For warriors who went out and never shall return.