1. And many a night, like my hope among the sons of my age,

    black-faced, its visage reckoned kin to charcoal,

  2. barred its course from the gaze of those who looked,

    until the figures recognized one another by their wounds.

  3. I never weary of the toil I must endure in it,

    nor will you see a man with needs grow weary.

  4. I seek success in an undertaking I pursue,

    and success lies in the night marches of hard-treading camels.

  5. My hand shifts from sword to pen,

    and glory is divided in halves between the sword and the pen.

Sol 5.6